All That Lies Between Us
by only-more-love
Summary: A series of oneshots about Booth, Brennan, and other characters. Some are set in the future, others are set in specific episodes. Chapter notes specify timelines. Thanks for reading.
1. Liar

**A/N: ** This is the start of what will be an ongoing series of drabbles and double drabbles about Booth and Brennan. Most of them will not be connected to each other. A drabble is a vignette that's 100 words long. A double drabble is a vignette that's 200 words long. It's possible that some of these will be turned into longer stories, but who knows?

I know many people don't read drabbles, but I like them. They are a very particular form of writing, and I haven't dabbled in them in a while. 

The one below takes place during the final scene of 2x12 (The Man in the Cell)—during Booth's infamous "lines" speech.

* * *

Booth knows Cam wasn't poisoned because of their relationship. 

"There's this line, and we can't cross it," he says, and knows he's just made a liar of himself, because Brennan crossed the line long ago—and took up residence in his heart. And damn it, he _let_ her.

He tells himself the reason he can't look at her for more than a second is that he needs to focus on Parker on the carousel. That, too, is a lie. He can't look at her because the truth is in his eyes, as visible as the cuts carved into his skin by the explosion.

A liar _and_ a coward.

Two months ago, he dug her from the dry earth. The memory lingered long after he scrubbed the dirt from under his nails.

As bad as it was, seeing Cam lying still and pale, as a machine breathed for her, he knows it would break him if it was Brennan in her place.

Her arm brushes his as she watches his son go 'round; he leans forward.

If he stops touching her, if he convinces them both of the importance of the line, maybe then he'll figure out how to evict her.


	2. Lucky Charms

**Title: **Lucky Charms (A reference to the cereal of the same name. See the notes below if you'd like a more precise description of Lucky Charms. :) )  
**Prompt: ** Breakfast  
**Word Count: ** 200  
**Characters: **Seeley Booth, Temperance Brennan  
**A/N: ** The following is a double drabble—200 word vignette—set in the future.  
**Notes: ** From Wikipedia: "Lucky Charms is a popular brand of breakfast cereal produced by the General Mills cereal company of Golden Valley, Minnesota. The cereal consists of two main components: small, toasted bits of oats and multi-colored marshmallow bits (or marbits) in various "magical" shapes making up over 25 percent of the cereal's volume.[1 The label features an affable leprechaun mascot, Lucky, animated in commercials."

* * *

"You shouldn't eat that. Thirty grams of sugar per serving will kill you." 

He shrugs. "We're all gonna die anyway."

She can't argue with that, so she settles for shaking her head and sighing in that way she knows irritates him.

"Oh ho. Not the Bones seal of disapproval. Just for that"--he tips the box so cereal spills onto her stomach--"I'll make you like them." He presses a clover into her navel. "Now you've got a bellybutton ring."

"You're going to get crumbs everywhere," she scolds, as he nudges a purple horseshoe over her nipple.

"Mmm, marshmallow," he murmurs, as his lips close over her.

The heat makes her arch into him. She threads her fingers through his hair and clutches him, gasping as his tongue brushes the sugary morsel against her.

When he finally looks up, his hair is askew, thanks to her greedy fingers. Feeling her cheeks heat, Temperance tries to smooth down his hair. But he catches her hand and presses a kiss to her fingertips.

"So?" he says, dark eyes alight with mischief and hunger.

"More." He drops a marshmallow into her mouth. She tastes the sugar as it dissolves, and Booth, infinitely sweeter.

* * *

**A Request: ** This week has been pretty bad so far, and it's only Wednesday. I'm feeling a little lackluster, so I'm going to borrow an idea from witchofthedogs.

If you feel up to it, please send me a PM or email with a prompt. My email is lerdoumdATyahooDOTcom. The prompt can be a phrase, a pairing, a song, a quote, an image, an episode, a vid on Youtube, or whatever you'd like. Over the next few days, I'll try and write you a _Bones_ drabble or ficlet in response. Unlike Witchy, I'm not brave enough to say I'll DEFINITELY write you one. Because if I write it, and it sucks lemons, I'm not posting it. :D Sigh. Sorry, it's been that kind of week.


	3. He Won't Cry

**Title: **He Won't Cry  
**Word Count: **100  
**Characters: **Parker, Booth  
**A/N: **All right, my week continues to get worse, but that's ok. I suppose not every week can be good. :) Many thanks and hugs to everyone who sent prompts, hugs, and/or reviews; I'm behind on responding, but I promise I will write you all back—even if it takes me a bit longer than I'd like. I'm sure I'll use some of your prompts and will definitely mention them in the notes for any story that comes out in response to them.**  
**

If you don't know what monkey bars are, I've posted a link to an image of them at the bottom of my profile. I'd put it in here, but this site strips URLs from stories and PMs.

* * *

"Daddy, watch! I can go all the way by myself." 

Booth watches obediently as Parker swings his way across the monkey bars.

It happens so fast; his hands slip free and he falls.

When Booth reaches him, Parker pulls himself to his feet. "Hey, let me see, buddy."

"I'm ok."

In the gold of Parker's hair, Booth sees Rebecca, in the shape of his eyes he sees her, too, but in the tremble of his mouth and its sudden firmness, in his stubborn insistence that everything is ok even as the gash on his chin bleeds red, Booth sees himself.


	4. Trouble Me

**A/N: ** This double drabble is set at an undetermined time in the future.

* * *

**Trouble Me **

When the solid warmth at her back disappears, Temperance wakes. Booth slips from the bed, and she knows he's trying to be quiet to keep from waking her. He limps toward the bathroom; she frowns, then remembers that snow is coming.

She rises and pads to the closet. When he returns from the bathroom, she is sitting up, cross-legged.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you," he says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Shh." She pats the space in front of her. Once he's seated, she crawls forward and adjusts the heating pad so it covers his feet.

He sighs, and the sound echoes the ache that must be in his feet. "Thank you."

Wrapping her arms around him from behind, Temperance rests her chin on his shoulder and does something completely irrational—she closes her eyes and wishes for a world in which people didn't kill, and good men didn't suffer. She wishes she had the power to erase the things he has silently endured.

As the morning light illuminates the first cold flakes outside their window, she presses her cheek against his. "No, Booth. Thank you."

He reaches up to cover her hands with his.

* * *

It's come to my attention that this drabble is a bit confusing. Whatever interpretation YOU have is fine, but if you're curious about my intent, read on:

Space  
in  
case  
you  
have  
no  
interest  
in  
authorial  
intent  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
From Two Bodies in the Lab:

Brennan: (opens the file) "You know on your x-rays, there's a history of multiple fractures on your feet consistent with beating. It's a common method of torture in the Middle East, beating the soles of the feet with pipes or hoses."

So Booth was tortured when he was a Ranger. Often, people with old injuries like broken bones experience pain when the weather changes, especially if cold, rain, or snow are coming. Temperance wakes when Booth gets up. She sees him limp toward the bathroom and then realizes his feet must hurt. When he returns. she's plugged in the heating pad, and she puts it on his feet. She knows WHY his feet hurt, and that's why she makes the specific wishes she makes.


	5. Power

**Title: **Power  
**Word Count: ** 200  
**Characters: **Seeley Booth, Temperance Brennan  
**Story Notes: ** The following is a double drabble—200 word vignette—set in the future.**  
Author Notes:** I am dealing with some family issues that unfortunately aren't going to be resolved anytime soon. That's eating up a lot of my energy. So if you're waiting on a review reply from me or if you get a reply that's less specific than usual, forgive me. 

I still have time to write; I just have less of it and more stress. ;) I wrote this because I needed to compartmentalize for a little while. With some luck, _Christmas Magic_  
will be my next update.

* * *

"Why did I think a relationship with a squint was a good idea?"

Brennan's lips thinned and her eyes shuttered, freezing him out.

"Bones..." Booth said on a sigh.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Booth scrubbed his hands over his face. She made his blood run hot—in and out of bed.

Didn't matter what they'd been fighting about; he shouldn't have said that.

* * *

He watched her from her doorway. The tightening of her shoulders told him she knew who stood there. When he could delay no longer, he sat beside her on the couch. "I brought you one of those nasty bran muffins." 

She continued leafing through her papers.

"Hey"--he bumped his knee against hers--"would you look at me? Please?"

She shifted away; his stomach clenched.

"I'm sorry."

Her gaze lifted to his. "That you're with me?"

"No. For what I said. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."

A sigh. "I hate...that I need..." She shook her head.

"Me?" he finished. "If it makes you feel better, I kinda need you."

A long pause.

"Did you bring coffee, too?"

"Yeah." He handed her the cup, smiling when their hands brushed and she didn't pull away.


	6. Things Unsaid

**Title: **Things Unsaid  
**Word Count: ** 200**  
Characters: **Seeley Booth, Temperance Brennan  
**Prompt: **Confession (Thanks, TemperTemper!)**  
Story Notes: ** The following is a double drabble—200 word vignette—set in the future.  
**Author Notes: **Thanks for the reviews, hugs, and support. I appreciate them all and will respond to you as soon as I can. I don't reply because I feel obligated; I do it because I think of the back and forth as little conversations, and I enjoy them.

* * *

Moonlight slants through partially closed blinds, striping Booth's body with light and shadow. Temperance props her head on her hand and waits. With the first snore, she inches closer. 

Her chest constricts at the sight of his left hand, which rests palm-up on his pillow, fingers half-curled. The position makes him look vulnerable—a word she doesn't associate with him.

Since her parents disappeared when she was fifteen, she has memories of them from before that. Though they weren't really Matthew and Christine Brennan, surely not everything about their life, _her_ life, was a lie. Sometimes she sifts through the memories, separating lies from truth.

The way her father looked at her mother. Temperance remembers, and wonders.

Sometimes she catches a similar expression on Booth's face.

"Stop looking at me like that. I hate it," she whispers. "I don't want to look at you like that, either. I'm...scared...maybe I already do. What happens when you leave, Booth?"

Anger compels her to move. But his sleep-roughened voice beckons her. "Bones? What're you doing?"

Booth reaches out and tugs her back against him. As his warm breath tickles her neck, Temperance wonders how long he'd been awake.


	7. Tied Up and Twisted

**Title: **Tied Up and Twisted  
**Word Count: ** 200**  
Characters: **Seeley Booth, Temperance Brennan  
**Prompt: **Tony/Roxie (Thanks, Hvolt11!)**  
Story Notes: ** The following is a double drabble—200 word vignette—set during _The Woman in the Sand_, when Brennan exits the bathroom wearing the black dress Booth picked out for her. Yeah, you know which dress I'm talking about.  
**Spoilers:** For _The Woman in the Sand._

* * *

Booth slips on the hat, eyes his reflection. The door opens, revealing Brennan, wearing the dress he chose. 

"Like this?" she asks, and he forgets fight clubs, Special Agent Seeley Booth, and Dr. Temperance Brennan—and remembers he's a man, she's a woman. God, is she a woman.

The black fabric makes her skin a beacon, and he can't look away. He wants. Oh, he _wants_:

To breathe her breath and swallow the words that spill from her lips.

To rip the straps from her shoulders and fill his hands with the weight of her breasts.

To slide the dress up milk-white thighs and leave it bunched around her waist as he pins her against the wall.

To make her watch them in the mirror, over his shoulder, as he buries his face in her neck and himself inside her and _makes her beg for him_.

To discover whether he's "Seeley" or "Booth" when she shatters in his arms.

Tony. Roxie. Booth. Brennan. Who are they? Just a man. Just a woman.

So why, if there is any justice in the world, can't she be his?

But she is still waiting for an answer. He swallows. "Yeah, like that."


	8. Tempting Fate

**Title: **Tempting Fate  
**Word Count: ** 200**  
Characters: **Seeley Booth, Temperance Brennan  
**Prompt: **The explosion in _The Knight on the Grid_. (Thanks, **o0MissBennet0o**!)**  
Story Notes: ** The following is a double drabble—200 word vignette—set during _The Knight on the Grid_, when "Gormagon's" backpack bomb explodes.  
**Spoilers:** For _The Knight on the Grid.  
_**A/N: **As always, thank you for the lovely comments you've left. I promise I'll respond to you all as soon as I can. I'm so glad to hear that some of you are enjoying these drabbles; they're allowing me to write even through the current craziness of my life. :) _  
_

* * *

"Get down," Booth says, shoving her and reversing as fast as he can. But he knows it's already too late, so he braces for the impact. The world spins crazily as the blast tosses the car into the air as if it weighed no more than one of Parker's toys. Even as the stench of burning rubber and the crunch of metal hit him, he bargains silently. 

_Let her live and I swear I'll become the man You want me to be. Let her live and I'll never take another life. Let her—_

The car rights itself.

His ears ring, his body screams. "Bones." Her stillness chills him. "Bones," he repeats, the word a prayer, a plea, and a vow. As he kicks her door, she moves.

Relief is too small a word for what floods his aching body.

"Don't move." Booth launches himself through his window, ignoring the glass that lodges in his palms.

He would crawl through worse for her.

When she rests on the sidewalk beside him, she begins to argue. The blood marring her skin infuriates him; he argues back.

Even as they fight, he gives thanks…and wonders how he'll uphold his side of the bargain.


	9. Blasphemy

**Title: **Blasphemy**  
****Word Count: ** 200**  
Characters: **Seeley Booth  
**Spoilers:** For _The Knight on the Grid.  
_**Summary: **Tie-in for end of _The Knight on the Grid_**  
Rating: **M or R for language**  
Story Notes: ** The following is a double drabble—200 word vignette—set during the montage at the end of _The Knight on the Grid._  
**A/N: **As always, thank you for the lovely comments you've left; they've cheered me up during a tough time. You have my word that I'll respond to you all as soon as I can. _  
_

* * *

The sick motherfucker mailed her two bloody kneecaps, and then tried to kill them both with a bomb packed with human teeth. For these transgressions alone, Booth would pry every last tooth from the motherfucker's mouth. 

But he knows he won't be granted that opportunity.

"I'm your gun," he remembers telling her.

And he is—her gun, her Michael, her flaming sword.

So he pictures a man with an unknown face, while he reloads the magazine and empties it into the target, six sure rounds in all. His grip stays steady and his aim remains true.

A man with this purpose cannot afford to waver.

If his list were to grow by one more name, that is a price he is willing to pay.

If given the chance, he will shoot to kill.

One for the blood staining her familiar face.

Two for the tooth lodged in the flesh of her arm.

Three for the gash on her pale forehead.

Four for the endless seconds until she lifted her head.

Five for the lives the bastard so needlessly ended.

Six for the fear for her that now burns in his gut.

If given the chance, he will shoot to kill.

* * *

Edited to add an explanatory note: 

The mention of Michael and the flaming sword are biblical references. Saint Michael the Archangel fought against Satan and his followers. He is sometimes depicted as a warrior angel carrying a flaming sword. His name was the war cry used by the good angels in the battle against Satan. Michael is considered the patron saint of warriors, police officers, and soldiers.


	10. Seconds

**Title: **Seconds**  
****Word Count: ** 200**  
Characters: **Booth, Brennan  
**Spoilers:** For_ Santa in the Slush_**  
Rating: **K**  
Story Notes: ** The following is a double drabble—200 word vignette—set in the future  
**A/N: **Thought I'd shoot for something a bit lighter this time. I also wanted to keep it heavy on the dialog to see how that worked. Don't expect too much from this; it's just a bit of wish fulfillment. :)

Happy Holidays to all who celebrate something this time of year. I'm not religious, but I enjoy the spirit of the season and celebrate it in a festive, non-religious way. I wish you all good cheer, good company, and good thoughts. :) Be well, my friends!

* * *

"You can't be serious about that guy, Bones." 

"Why not? Robert is a solid candidate."

"See, that's not how you should describe someone you're dating. He's all wrong for you."

"How so?"

"For starters, he's way too serious."

"Seriousness can be a sign of sincerity, Booth."

"Maybe. But you need someone who makes you laugh, balances you out."

"Hm. What else?"

"That guy—"

"Robert."

"Whatever. Bob's a wimp. You need someone who'll keep you on your toes. You're too much woman for good ol' Bob."

"What kind of woman is that?"

"You know—independent, outspoken."

"That's how you perceive me?"

"Well, yeah."

"Thank you."

"It's not a compliment. Just how I think of you."

"Thank you anyway."

"You're welcome."

"So, where do you suggest I find this paragon of manhood?"

"You're looking at him."

"I think you forgot something important—physical attraction. Even if you fulfill the other requirements, I'm not attracted to you."

"Liar."

"Kissing you was like kissing Russ."

"That's just wrong on so many levels." He leans in until his lips brush her ear. "I say we try a little experiment. I dare you to kiss me now and not like it."

"I thought you'd never ask."


	11. Safe Harbor

**Title: **Safe Harbor**  
****Word Count: ** 200**  
Characters: **Booth, Brennan**  
Rating: **K**  
Story Notes: ** The following is a double drabble—200 word vignette—set in the future  
**A/N: **Would love to know what you think of this one. Any questions, let me know. As always, thank you for reading. **  
**

* * *

Booth looks in the mirror to make sure he hasn't missed a spot and has a sudden sense of déjà vu; time falls away and it is his father staring back at him–his mouth, his sad eyes. The realization forces him back several steps. He sits down on the edge of the tub and closes his eyes, remembering when his father taught him to shave. Minutes later, the door opens. No knock, no greeting. Just the rustle of clothing as she enters. 

"Booth?"

When he doesn't answer, she sits next to him and rests her hand on his thigh. The years of disappointment and difference are ashes in his mouth, and he is choking. If his breath hitches in his throat or his shoulders shake, she doesn't mention it. The pressure of her hand gives him a place to return, even as memory and grief lead him far away.

For just a while longer, he wants to hold tight to the image of his father laughing and patting shaving cream on his face; he keeps his eyes closed. He isn't ready to open them just yet and see his father in his face...or his father in his coffin.


	12. Grace

**Title: **Grace**  
****Word Count: ** 200**  
Characters: **Booth, Brennan**  
Rating: **K**  
Story Notes: ** The following is a double drabble—200 word vignette—set in the future  
**A/N: **As always, thank you for reading. All comments are cherished.

I owe this drabble to one of my favorite songs—_Times Like This_, by Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians. This isn't a song fic, but it's definitely inspired by that song. If you'd like to hear it, check out my profile for a link to download the song. I'd post it here in this chapter, but this site strips URLs from stories.

* * *

Thunder rumbles outside, and it reverberates through Booth's chest. Wind whips rain against the windows of his apartment; he tugs the weathered throw over them both. Booth's eyes drift closed, and he laces his hands over his stomach, listening. The elements lull him, and his body melts into the couch. For long, long moments, he hovers on the precipice between wakefulness and sleep. Just as he is about to tip over into the latter, she shifts and sighs, jarring him awake. 

Frowning, he opens his eyes. "Bones..."

His gaze travels the now-familiar lines, angles, and curves of her face.

She clutches a felt-tipped pen between her teeth, and a red smudge paints her left cheek. Her hair, still damp from their shower, is beginning to curl just a little. This makes her look very, very young.

The time for hidden feelings has passed.

Now, he can look at her whenever he wants and not worry that his eyes will betray his affection for her.

Now, there is just _this_.

She pulls the pen from her mouth and raises an eyebrow. "What?"

Booth pulls both her bare feet into his lap. "Nothing, Bones." A smile touches his lips. "Nothing."


	13. Questions and Answers

**Title: **Questions and Answers**  
****Word Count: ** 200**  
Characters: **Booth, Brennan**  
Rating: **PG-13**  
Story Notes: ** The following is a double drabble—200 word vignette—set in the future  
**A/N: **As always, thank you for reading. All comments are cherished.  
**Warning: ** Don't read this if you're not prepared for a little angst.

* * *

Booth does not cry, scream, or beg. He sits in a pew that has borne the weight of countless human joys and sorrows and mouths one word. Then he waits, cold hands folded.

The silence carries no answer, so he speaks the word aloud this time. "Why?" It echoes through the empty church.

No answer.

Booth blinks, and sees again the small, still body, soaked by rain. "Why?"

The creaking of wood as he shifts serves as his only reply.

As he rises and wonders how he'll tell Parker his classmate was kidnapped, tortured and left to rot in the woods, Booth doesn't ask why He didn't answer. Because_ that_ why doesn't matter. The emptiness inside him is answer enough.

* * *

After quietly shutting the front door, Booth moves through the shadows until his fingers brush familiar fabric. He sits—until he can no longer differentiate between the darkness of the room and the darkness inside him. 

When she joins him, they don't speak. Their breath counts the minutes...until she threads her sleep-warmed fingers through his. Her touch doesn't make it ok, but it reminds him people can live without faith. 

Maybe he can learn to live without his.


	14. All's Fair

Title: All's Fair...  
Rating: M  
**Prompt: **Breath  
Words: 317   
Story Notes: This ficlet is set in the future. And, I'm not sure, but I think I might have just written PWP (albeit a short one) for the first time. I'll let you be the judge of that. Not what I set out to do, but the end result may be the same.   
Author's Note: Comments are loved. As always, thanks for reading. I can see you, even if you're not commenting. :) Happy New Year!

Muscle and tendon shift and stretch in a symphony of movement beneath the surface of warm skin, as Booth pulls against the clasp of the handcuffs that hold him captive against her bedposts. Temperance cups her breasts and leans forward, knowing they are almost spilling out of the lacy concoction he bought her.

The groan this coaxes from him causes satisfaction to curl sweetly in her belly.

Biting back a smile, she moves until her breath just brushes him. His breath comes hard and fast, and his body bows as he strains upward toward her mouth.

There is no mercy in war, so she feathers her fingers across the crease of his thigh and is rewarded with a jerk and a quiver.

"Come on, Bones," he says, his voice thick with the same intangible thing that almost makes her want to end their game prematurely. Almost.

"Whining will get you nowhere, Booth. You're aware of the rules."

"Screw the rules. You want it as bad as I do."

Raising an eyebrow, she lets her gaze linger on him. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"If you keep looking at me like that…"

"What?" she asks as she crawls up his sweat-slicked body and allows her tongue to taste the salt of his skin.

He bucks against her, and she knows victory is in sight.

"What?" she says, her tone matter of fact.

"You…win…" he pants.

She pauses in her attention to his nipples and holds a hand to her ear. "I'm sorry. I couldn't hear you. Could you please repeat that?"

"Damn you. You win. Now come here." A scowl paints Booth's face, even as a wide smile stretches across hers.

"A deal is a deal, I suppose," she says with a nod.

"Just you wait, Bones," he says as she lowers herself onto him. "Payback's a"—he pauses as she rotates her hips—"bitch."


	15. Better Than Counting Sheep

**Title: **Better Than Counting Sheep  
** Rating:** K+  
**Prompt: **Sleep**  
Words:** 200  
** Story Notes:** This double drabble is set in the third season.  
**Author's Note:** Comments are cherished. As always, thanks for reading.

When neither warm milk nor an ambient noise cd have had the desired effect, Temperance reaches for the phone.

"Booth," he answers immediately.

She realizes it's been two weeks since they worked a case. "Do you want to have lunch tomorrow?" she asks without any preamble.

"Oh, hey, Bones. You missed me, huh?" She can hear the smile in his voice.

"Not at all," she insists, fighting an answering smile. "So, are you free for lunch?"

* * *

Booth tosses a coin and struggles to keep his tone nonchalant. "Sure. I'll swing by around 12:30." Inside, he does a little dance. Which tie should he wear? 

"Good. What are you doing?"

"Watching SportsCenter. What about you?"

"I've been trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep."

If she's trying to fall asleep, she's probably in bed. Huh. Is she wearing pajamas? Maybe she sleeps naked, like him. He squelches that thought; it won't help _him_ sleep. "So you called me, thinking I'd bore you to sleep? I'm insulted." He waits for her sharp response, but the line remains quiet. "Bones...? Bones?"

She must be asleep. Ignoring the small voice telling him he's a fool, Booth listens to Brennan's breathing until his eyelids start to droop.


	16. Games Without Frontiers

**Title: **Games Without Frontiers (I owe the title to Peter Gabriel)  
** Rating:** K+**  
Words:** 200  
** Story Notes:** This double drabble is an alternate ending to _The Woman in the Sand_. It's set toward the end of the episode, after Booth's turn in the ring, and after his and Brennan's final confrontation with Joe Noland.  
**Author's Note: **I tried something. Don't know whether it worked. What do you think?

Though the shower washed away the blood, it did little for the burning in his face and every muscle in his body. There is only one bed; he sits on the edge. He hisses and closes his eyes when she presses the ice to his forehead.

When he opens them, she's standing close enough for him to see that some of her lipstick has worn off, revealing the skin underneath. "Red's your color, Roxie," he says, allowing his eyes to trace the lines of her dress with a new boldness.

Her eyes glitter in the dim light. "Let's see if it's yours, Tony," she replies, the accent as heavy as her eye makeup. She takes his hand, brings it to her hip. When she releases it, he curls his fingers into the silky fabric.

* * *

Their bags are packed, and there's nothing left to do now but leave. 

"Booth, I don't think that–"

"Relax, Bones," he says, cutting her off and ignoring the way her now-bare mouth twists in a frown at his interruption. He glances at the torn red dress she tossed in the trashcan right after they woke up that morning. "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."


	17. Stalemate

Title: Stalemate  
Rating: M for language  
Spoilers: None  
Word Count: 269  
Story Notes: This is a dialog ficlet set in the future. Booth and Brennan are romantically involved.  
Warning: This isn't pretty.  
A/N: As always, I would love to hear your reactions.

* * *

"I can't do this, Booth." 

"Can't do what?"

"Feelings."

"Can't or won't, Bones?"

"Does the distinction matter?"

"Yeah, it does."

"Fine then. I _can't_ give you what you want."

"What do you think that is?"

"You know."

"Say it."

She stares at him in silence, her face a book he can no longer read.

"Jesus, you won't even say it. Love, Bones. Love."

"Whatever. I can't give you that. Friendship. Sex. That's all I can give you."

"I want more than that."

"I know. But I can't be the one to give it to you."

"Be honest, damn it. It's not that you can't love me; it's that you won't let yourself. Man up, Bones." He knows he should be more gentle with her, but there's a burning in his gut, and he can't stop the words any more than he can stop what he feels for her. "Are you going to hide behind what your parents did to you for the rest of your fucking life?"

"This isn't about my parents—"

He barks a laugh. "Sure, and if you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you."

"What? I don't—"

He cuts her off. "It means you're full of shit."

"This isn't productive," she says, and turns to leave.

"God forbid we ever be anything less than productive and rational. Not everything fits into your fucking scientific framework," he calls out to her retreating back.

"Go to hell, Booth."

"Trust me, I'm already there."

After his front door slams shut, Booth sits with his head in his hands—until the sunlight streaming in through his windows fades.


	18. A Lesson in Forensic Anthropology

Title: A Lesson in Forensic Anthropology  
Rating: PG-13  
Characters: Brennan, Booth  
Words: 100  
S/N: This is a drabble set in the not-too-distant future.  
Spoilers: None  
A/N: I wrote this just because. :)

* * *

"Tell me more."

"Well, I would use the length of your femur"--she squeezed his thigh--"to estimate your height."

"Very, very tall, right?"

Brennan rolled her eyes in response. 

"What else?"

"The distinct prominence of your brow ridge"--she traced a finger over his eyebrows--"would suggest that you're male."

"All man—that's me," Booth replied with a smirk. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face before taking her hand and placing it on his crotch. "And what does that suggest, Dr. Brennan?"

"That this lesson is over."

"Wrong," he murmured, "I think it's just beginning." 


	19. From the Mouths of Babes

**Title**: From the Mouths of Babes  
Series: All That Lies Between Us  
** Rating: **PG  
** Characters:** Parker, Booth, Brennan  
** Words: **232  
**Spoilers: **None, as far as I can tell.  
** S/N:** This is a ficlet set in the not-too-distant future.

(waves to **a2zmom)****  
A/N: **Thanks to everyone who's been commenting. I wish I could hug you all. :)

* * *

Parker shoved a fry into his mouth and turned eyes very much like his father's in her direction. "Why does my daddy call you Bones?" 

"Hey, buddy, please don't chew with your mouth open. Finish your food and then talk."

Temperance's lips twitched at the gentle fatherly admonishment, and she shot Booth a glance.

"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing." She turned her gaze back to Parker, who had finished eating and was regarding them both with a serious expression.

"Now can I talk?"

"Yeah." Booth ruffled Parker's hair.

"Why does Daddy call you Bones?" he asked again.

"I don't know, Parker. You'll have to ask your dad. Almost everyone else calls me Dr. Brennan. "

"Daddy?"

"Well..." Booth paused, cleared his throat. "You know how your mom calls you Doodle?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I call Dr. Brennan, Bones."

"Mom says Doodle's my special name. Because she loves me." Parker scratched his nose. "Does that mean you love Dr. Brennan?"

Warmth flooded Temperance's cheeks, and words tumbled from her mouth. "I think your father meant to say he calls me Bones because I work with— "

Booth silenced her with a glance; Temperance found herself unable to look away. "Yeah, Parker, it does."

"Ok." His curiosity satisfied, Parker turned his attention elsewhere. "Can I have a milkshake?"

"Sure. You can have anything you want," Booth replied, his gaze still on her. "Anything at all."


	20. Decisions

**Title**: Decisions  
** Series:** All That Lies Between Us  
**Characters:** Booth, Brennan  
** Word Count**: 512  
** Rating: **PG-13 for a curse word.  
** Spoilers:** For the Pilot episode.  
** Story Notes:** This ficlet is set at the end of the Pilot episode. Toward the end of Cleo Eller's funeral, Booth and Brennan walk away. This ficlet steps in just after they've bantered about her being on The New York Times' bestsellers list.

At the very end of the episode, after they take off down the road, Brennan shoves Booth. I always wondered what he said that made her do that. :)  
** A/N: **Thanks to everyone who's been commenting. I wish I could hug you all. :)

* * *

Booth trails off when Brennan stops walking. As he turns to see what's captured her attention, the priest's voice drifts to him. "Where there is sadness, joy. Oh, divine master, grant that I may seek not so much to be consoled, as to console; to be understood, as to understand; to be loved, as to love. For it is in giving..." 

"...that we receive," Booth finishes silently.

The September breeze tugs at his suit and hair, and Booth watches the Ellers put their arms around each other after they've placed matching red roses on their daughter's casket.

His thoughts return to the woman standing next to him.

Thanks to her, that asshole Furst got to head up the special unit to investigate Cleo Eller's murder.

Thanks to her, he got reamed by Cullen.

Thanks to her, Ted and Sharon Eller can bury their daughter.

With that burial, there may not be peace, but finally, there's closure.

Which is more than a lot of people get; more than she got.

He turns to face Brennan, and though he can't read bones the way she does, he can read people. He watches how her eyes linger on the Ellers, how her slender brows draw together. He makes his decision.

"You know, if it weren't for you...those people would never have known what happened to their daughter. That's got to be worse than the truth."

He doesn't regret his decision. Because when she turns those clear blue eyes on him, he can tell she's heard him.

"I know exactly how the Ellers felt about Cleo," she says, surprising him. "My parents disappeared when I was 15, and nobody knows what happened to them."

The news isn't anything he doesn't already know, but hearing it from her, instead of reading it in her file or hearing it from her friend, is different. He realizes she's offered up a piece of herself.

So he offers up a piece of himself, tells her a secret. And it is a secret—even if she doesn't know that. "Being a sniper, I...took a lot of lives. What I'd like to do before I'm done is try and catch at least that many murderers."

"Please, you don't think there's some kind of ... cosmic balance sheet." Her laughter cuts him.

He nearly regrets telling her, but then the laughter fades, and her lips compress. Grass crunches beneath her booted feet as she shifts her weight. "I'd like to help you with that," she says, surprising him again.

"Eh..." he replies.

Laughter spills from her mouth again, only this time, he wants to laugh with her.

They walk, side by side, down the road. Booth pulls his shades from his pocket and slips them on. "You know," he says, shooting her a look and admiring how blue her eyes seem as he watches them through the polarized lenses of his shades, "you're never gonna have a gun again." When she shoves him, he stumbles and flicks her a grin. Maybe having a squint out in the field won't be so bad.


	21. Little Earthquakes

**Title: **Little Earthquakes (Title comes from the Tori Amos song.)

**Timeframe:** Set during _The Killer in the Concrete_, in the scene where Brennan and Max take down the bounty hunter and find Booth's tooth.

**Word Count: ** 200

* * *

Staring down at the left anterior molar cradled in her gloved hand, Brennan knew fear. Science told her that a cascade of epinephrine, norepinephrine, and cortisol had tensed her muscles and increased her heart rate and respiration. Chemicals, yes, forcing her blood through veins that suddenly felt too small. 

But her heart felt as if it was being squeezed by a giant fist, and her body vibrated with the overwhelming need to hit something—hit Veleska Miller—again and again and again if need be. To use her fist to smash the insolent smirk from the other woman's face.

Booth—partner, friend, and something she struggled to name—was out there somewhere, probably in the hands of a mob enforcer whose signature was an icepick to the brain.

Something savage and visceral awoke in her then; civility, rationality, and millennia of evolution thrown aside in favor of obedience to a voice that demanded an eye for an eye... and a tooth for a tooth. Neither morality nor reason nor temperance kept her from heeding the serpent's sibilant whisper; only the inexorable grip on her arm did that.

It was only then she realized it: She truly was her father's daughter.


	22. Simple Thing

**Title: **Simple Thing  
**Rating: **K  
**Timeframe: **Sometime after _Santa in the Slush_, but no spoilers for that episode.  
**Words:** 200

The quiet of her apartment generally comforts her, but tonight it bumps against her skin in a way that leaves her feeling empty. So without really thinking about it, Brennan finds herself standing outside his apartment with a large box of pizza in her hands. The door finally opens after three knocks. Booth clutches a crumpled napkin in his hand. Lifting an eyebrow, he says, "Sorry, you have the wrong apartment. I didn't order any pizza."

His response irritates her; she doesn't know why. Not bothering to answer, she goes to leave. Before she's taken a single step, his hand wraps around her bicep and turns her around. "Hey, Bones, it was just a joke." His voice softens. "A dumb joke." He dips his head to look directly in her eyes. "Come on in."

She motions toward his napkin. "It looks like you're already eating dinner. I don't want to... I'll—"

"Shh. I've always got room for pizza."

His hand still rests on her arm, and she finds she doesn't mind it. When he tugs her inside, she doesn't resist. A smile lights his dark eyes and when he says, "I'm glad you stopped by," she realizes she is, too. **  
**


	23. Everything to Lose

**Title: **Everything to Lose  
**A/N:** I wrote this in response to a writing exercise I made up, and then I realized I liked it for _All That Lies Between Us_ with a wee bit o' tweaking.  
**Words: **229

Brennan tossed a few bills on the table, silencing his protests with a pointed glance, and slid out of the booth. Setting his coffee cup down, Booth stared out the window and watched her go. Sunlight caught the red in her hair and set it on fire.

In less than thirty seconds, she made it to the curb and stepped off into the street. His stomach tightened and his breath stuttered in his throat as he noticed that she hadn't looked to see if any cars were in her path. It was just so _her_ to charge ahead and expect the world to make way, while conveniently ignoring the fact that skin, muscle, and bone were no match for monsters of steel and rubber.

Every few weeks he'd peer at his reflection and discover another strand of gray hair. He knew it was her fault; he'd aged five years since he met her. Every time he watched her walk away from him, her long legs eating up the ground and her razor-sharp mind focused on the next challenge, it took months off his life.

One day she might walk without seeing what was in front of her or jab her fist in the wrong man's face, so today he watched her go until his eyes blurred and he could no longer distinguish her from all the other people outside.


	24. Miami

**Title:** Miami  
**Pairing:** Booth/Brennan**  
Challenge: ** drabble123 LJ community**  
Prompt: ** #3 (Comfort)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count: ** 200  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

A chill wind whips against them as they trudge back to his SUV. It whistles in Booth's ears and creeps under his sleeves, making him shiver beneath his coat. His breath puffs out in a cloud ahead of him; he sighs and quickens his steps, pausing to shoot a dirty look at the man who steps in his path. "Watch where you're going, buddy," he bites out.

Winter sucks. He's tired of the gray skies and the cold that's soaked deep into his bones. Why is he freezing his ass off in D.C. instead of lying on a beach in Miami and letting the sun warm him from the outside in? Maybe it's time for a vacation. A couple days of sand, sea, and booze could be exactly what he needs.

When he reaches his car, he realizes Brennan is no longer with him. "Come on, Bones. Hurry up." Scowling, he turns on his heel to see what's holding her up.

She stands several feet behind him, arms outstretched. "It's snowing," she says, and there's something in her voice that makes him glance first at the sky and then back at her upturned face.

Maybe Miami can wait a while. 


	25. Ordinary

**Title:** Ordinary  
**Pairing:** Booth/Brennan**  
Challenge: ** drabble123 LJ community**  
Prompt: ** #17 (Sweet)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count: ** 200  
**A/N:** I'm having a rotten day, so I wrote this.

* * *

Brennan wrinkled her nose and glanced up from her crossword puzzle as Booth popped a bacon strip into his mouth. He winked. _Crunchcrunchcrunch._

Sighing, she spooned some steel-cut oatmeal into her mouth before shooting him a pointed glare.

"What?"

"Could you please make a little less noise?"

"It's called chewing, Bones. With crispy bacon you've gotta have some crunch."

She penciled in another letter. "With the amount of crunching you're doing, one would think you're eating bones."

"Gross. Way to ruin my appetite."

"You could stand to have your appetite ruined. You've already eaten scrambled eggs and six strips of bacon."

"So? I have a physically demanding job."

"Yes, when you're not sitting at your desk eating snickerdoodles."

A guilty expression crossed his face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mmhm."

"Anyway, I know why you're Miss Crankypants--you're stuck."

"And you can help?"

"Seeley Booth, problem solver."

"Fine. What is a three-letter word meaning mothers, fathers, and educators?"

Booth sat in silence until finally, a slow smile curved his lips. "PTA."

Brennan sighed; he was, unfortunately, right.

"Uh huh. Take that... Now, come here and let me show you what else I can do."

"If you insist."

"I do."


	26. Research

**Title:** Research  
**Pairing:** Booth/Brennan  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count: **401**  
****Timeframe: **Future

* * *

On a Sunday afternoon in early September, Brennan sits on Booth's living room couch with a red pen in one hand and a draft of her next book in her other hand. She promised her editor she would have the manuscript ready by Thursday, and she intends to keep her promise. But one particular section niggles at her; she hasn't articulated Kathy's emotions in a satisfactory way. However, the concrete words Brennan is searching for don't come. 

Booth sits on the floor, his hair gilded by the autumn sunlight coming from the window they kept open because the air hasn't turned chill yet. As she watches, he takes off his t-shirt and pulls another one from the laundry basket in front of him. The shirt musses his hair as he pulls it over his head. He sighs happily and tugs it down.

"Booth?"

He looks up from the red boxers he is folding. "Yeah?" 

"Would you come here for a moment?"

"Sure." The couch dips as he sits down next to her. "What's up?"

After setting down her pen, she wraps an arm around him. Her fingers register his t-shirt, warm and fresh from the dryer. She inhales and rests her cheek against him. He smells clean--like dryer sheets. When she pulls back, she finds him gazing at her with his eyebrows raised. "What was that for?"

"Research."

"What kind of research?"

Slowly, she smooths her hand over Booth's jaw and feels her fingertips catch on his weekend stubble. It makes her smile. "I'm trying to describe what Kathy feels when she looks at Andy."

"Any luck?"

"Perhaps."

"Well don't hold out on me, Bones. As your test subject, aren't I entitled to know the results of your research?" His gaze is warm as it settles on her face, as is his hand where it cups shoulder. "It's only ethical. Or something." 

Brennan tilts her head, not looking away, and laces her fingers through his. "I'm not certain, but I think she feels... hopeful." Though she intends the last word to sound like a question, it doesn't. 

"Hopeful, huh?" 

She nods; he turns over her hand and presses a kiss to the center of her palm. A slow smile spreads across his face and warms her somewhere inside that she can't quite pinpoint—though that doesn't stop her from trying. 

"I bet Andy'd be happy to know that."  



	27. Epiphany

Title: Epiphany  
Characters: Booth, Brennan  
Words: 313  
Timeframe: Future  
A/N: This is just a bit o' silliness. The Terrible Towel is a talisman for fans of the Pittsburgh Steelers football team. Google it if you'd like more info. I happen to be married to a loyal Steelers fan. :)

* * *

"Bones, have you seen my Terrible Towel?"

"What?"

"The game's about to start. I can't watch without the towel. It's bad luck."

"Booth"—her lowered eyebrows signaled the onset of a lecture—"there is no scientific basis for luck. In fact—"

"Not now, Bones," he said, waving her away. "I've gotta find it."

"What does this towel look like?"

Sighing, Booth rubbed the back of his neck. "Yellow with black lettering."

"Hm. Yellow with... Oh." She nodded. "I believe I know where it is."

"Where?"

"I put it in the bag with your old blankets when you donated them to Goodwill last weekend."

"You donated my Terrible Towel?"

"There were holes in it, and it didn't appear to be very absorbent anymore."

"Bones, I've had that towel since—"

"Here"—she handed him the dishtowel that hung from his refrigerator door—"now you have a towel."

Booth stared down at the towel in his hand. "What do you expect me to do with this?"

She shrugged. "Whatever you would normally do with your Horrible Towel."

He was torn between laughing and yelling at her, but laughter won out; he doubled over, clutching his stomach. When he could breathe normally again, he straightened and met her quizzical gaze. She'd donated his Terrible Towel, but damn, did she make him laugh. That's when he realized he was in love with her. Not attracted, not interested, not in it for the great sex. In love.

Still smiling, he slung the towel over his shoulder and then cupped Brennan's cheeks. "Terrible Towel, Bones," he said before peppering her face with kisses. "Not Horrible Towel." He brushed his lips over her forehead.

"You're an odd man, Booth," she said, pulling back to look him in the eye. "I don't understand your attachment to a towel."

He smiled and flicked her with the dishtowel. "Trust me, Bones, neither do I."


	28. Sweetness Follows

**Title:** Sweetness Follows (This title comes courtesy of REM.)  
**Pairing:** Booth/Brennan  
**Written for: ** **drabble123 **at LJ  
**Prompt: ** #12 (Believe)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count: ** 200  
**A/N: ** Happy Friday to anyone who reads this. :)

* * *

God is merely a cultural construct; Brennan hasn't seen any evidence to the contrary. Booth would disagree vehemently, but not even waking up with his warm chest pressed against her back has changed her mind about that. 

Oh, she doesn't begrudge him his beliefs--she isn't so blinded by science as he thinks--that she cannot perceive the solace they offer him. Without question, his face settles into more peaceful lines after his nightly prayers.

He prays for her; he told her over dinner last month.

The crease between his eyebrows had hinted at his concern about her reaction to that news.

He shouldn't have worried. After too many years of wondering if she mattered to anyone, really mattered, it was a relief--no, a privilege--to know she did.

So when he told her, she just smiled and watched the crease smooth out.

Humility isn't her strong suit. Booth would laugh uproariously if she voiced that thought, but his eyes are warm with acceptance when he looks at her, so yes, she feels a bit humbled.

While she doesn't believe in God, she believes in this: the man seated across from her, who has just handed her the last hot, flaky spring roll.


	29. Proximity

**Title: **Proximity**  
Word Count: ** 300, 301, or 305 (Different counts from different counters. Hmm...)  
**Timeline: ** Takes place after Santa in the Slush

When Brennan peers into Angela's office, it takes her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. A rustle and a soft laugh attract her gaze. Her friend is seated, and Hodgins stands in front of her, his head bent. They don't touch, but there is something undeniably intimate about the scene.

Heat floods her cheeks; she has no desire to intrude upon a quiet moment that has nothing to do with her. Her question can wait. As quietly as she can, Brennan backs out of the doorway before they notice her presence.

Unsettled, she rushes down the hall toward her office. A hand on her shoulder startles her, and she whips around, muscles tensed.

"Whoa, hey, Bones. Relax, it's just me." Booth stands behind her, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. But he is close--close enough that she can smell his aftershave, cologne, or whatever good-smelling concoction he has sprayed on himself. His physical proximity draws her mind back to Angela and Hodgins, and she steps away. Has Booth always stood this close to her? If so, why hasn't she noticed it before?

His gaze dances over her face, sharpening as it lingers on her cheeks, and she knows he sees the flush. An almost effervescent sensation rises in her stomach, and her brain rushes with questions, with flashes of Angela and Hodgins, and of her and Booth, and that kiss that really, truly didn't mean anything. Something is happening to her, and she doesn't like it, and Booth is looking at her with a frown of concern, and she really can't deal with this--whatever this is--right now.

So she does the only thing she can: she strides away from Booth, ignoring his surprised exclamation, and heads toward the ladies' bathroom--where he most assuredly won't follow her.

**Author's Note: ** This morning I received an email that said, "Get what you have been missing all your life by clicking here." I clicked, but Seeley Booth didn't materialize in my living room. What did I do wrong?


	30. The House Is On Fire

**Title:** The House Is On Fire (Double Drabble #30)  
**Characters: ** Booth, Russ Brennan, Brennan  
**Written for: ** **drabble123 **at LJ  
**Prompt: ** #4 (Kiss)  
**Rating:** T or PG-13 for some language.  
**Word Count: ** 200  
**Spoilers:** For _The Knight on the Grid _

* * *

He's a fool. That's gotta be it. Why else is he standing in the doorway watching Russ Brennan, minus handcuffs, hug his stepdaughter? Cullen would have his ass in a sling if he found out about this little detour to the hospital. Make that his ass, his balls, and his badge--all of which he'd really like to keep, thank you very much. 

Or maybe it's that no matter how hard he tries to forget, he remembers the thousand separate moments he didn't have with his son. He's old enough to realize he'll never get them back, but maybe this man and this girl can have one moment. It's a gamble--_that's against the rules, Seeley_--but what's one more broken rule when the house is on fire?

Whoa. She just kissed him. "Thank you, Booth."

His face is tingling so much he almost can't feel it, and wow that doesn't make any sense. He. Can't. Move. _Getagripgetagripgetagrip..._

Maybe one of these days she'll touch him and it won't have anything to do with gratitude, grief, or her crazy family.

Fuck; he really is a fool.

**Author's Note: **_The Knight on the Grid _is one of my favorite _Bones_ episodes--and not because of the kiss. What are your faves?


	31. Salt

**Title:** Salt (Ficlet #31)  
**Characters: ** Booth, Brennan  
**Written for: ****50scenes **at LJ  
**Prompt: ** #21 (Underneath)  
**Rating:** T or PG-13  
**Word Count: **353  
** Timeline: **Future

* * *

The vibration from the door slamming shut wakes Brennan from the light slumber she fell into while waiting for Booth to return from the gym. She pushes herself upright on his couch, feeling her muscles protest. 

"Hey." The floor creaks as he walks toward her.

"Hi," she replies, blinking up at Booth and trying to shake off the vestiges of a dream that has left her warm and slightly aroused, though she can't recall any specific images, just impressions.

They only exchanged keys last week, so this--being in his apartment when he isn't there--still feels strange.

"You have a good nap?" Booth grasps the hem of his gray t-shirt and pulls it up to wipe his face.

The flash of skin and abdominal muscle leaves her distracted. "Hm," she says, struggling to focus. Parts of the shirt are stained a darker gray, and she knows he had a good workout. His face is flushed, his hair damp and messy. But it has always been his dark eyes and facile mouth that have drawn her steadily toward the precipice.

When they were partners, she'd carefully controlled whatever impulses she had to touch him, surrendering only under the guise of needing comfort. But they'd eventually crossed those imaginary lines and fallen headlong into the territory of lovers. Now here they are, and there is no one to see them, no one to stop them as the fading light of the sun moves over them both.

It is, after all, a lover's prerogative to touch the object of her desire, she tells herself, standing and sliding her hands under his shirt and over hot, moist skin.

"Bones, I'm sweaty."

"I know," she murmurs against his pulse. "I like it." Tasting salt, she shudders. More than anything, she wants to crawl underneath his skin, but that isn't possible, so she'll settle for this.

The hunger terrifies her, but that doesn't keep her from pushing him until his back kisses the wall. Bending, she reaches for the waistband of his shorts.

"Bones."

She looks up at him.

"Bones..."

She smiles.

**Author's Note: **Thank you to everyone who encouraged me when I was feeling less than good about my writing; I really appreciate it. I forced myself to push through it, and this is what came out.


	32. Fade Into You

**Title: **Fade Into You (Double Drabble #32) [I owe the title to Mazzy Star. If anyone wants the song, let me know; I'll upload it.  
**Characters:** Booth, Brennan  
**Written for: **drabble123 at LJ  
**Prompt: **#9 (Memory)  
**Rating:** T or PG-13  
**Word Count: **200  
**Timeline:** Future  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

He knows he doesn't deserve her--knows it in his gut and in his bones--as surely as he knows how many lives he's taken--but he won't give her up. Can't. Because the light that dawns in her cloudless eyes as she tilts her head back to look at him feels as real as the sand and the burning sunlight that still fill his mouth. She smiles, and he gasps, snared by the gentle curvature of lips and cheeks. The sound echoes in the afternoon stillness, but he's helpless to stop it because the tiny movement hits him squarely in the solar plexus, simultaneously stealing his breath and returning it to him.

As he sinks into her, she arches her hips and welcomes his weight with a whispered "Booth," disturbing the air around them with that single word. Not wanting to hear his name, he covers her soft lips with his own--and tastes absolution. An illusion, of course. Still, for one bright, hard moment, he wants to forget who and what he is and just be a shadow pressed against her warm skin and pliant muscle.

Beneath him, she moves, strong fingers digging into his shoulders. He closes his eyes. Forgetting. Remembering.

**Author's Note:** My head is killing me. Why am I boring you with that? I don't know. But still, my head is killing me.


	33. Beloved One

**Title:** Beloved One (Double Drabble #33) [I owe the title to Ben Harper. If anyone wants the song, let me know; I'll upload it.  
**Characters:** Booth, Brennan  
**Written for: **drabble123 at LJ  
**Prompt:** #2 (Hope)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count: **200  
**Timeline:** Future  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

A warm breeze drifts across the park, bumping cotton candy clouds and whispering through the green canopy of leaves above them. Booth exhales and looks down. Brennan's head rests in his lap like it belongs there. He isn't used to seeing her like this--hands quiet and still on her stomach instead of cradling bone or wielding instruments he can't name--but the sight fills his chest with something he won't label out of fear that it'll be taken away. 

Generations die and are born in between each rise and fall of her chest.

Though her eyes are closed, he knows she's awake because a hint of a smile touches the corners of her mouth. This pulls an answering smile from him, and he wonders what colors flicker behind her eyelids.

He plucks a single blade of grass. Holding his breath, he brushes it across her cheek and watches her nose twitch in reaction. Without opening her eyes, she captures his hand and cups it over her eyes, her skin smooth and sun-warmed under his palm.

"What are you doing?"

"Hiding from the world."

"You do that a lot?"

She lifts his hand and opens her eyes. "Only when I'm with you."  
**  
**

**Author's Note: ** Maybe someone somewhere is wondering why I've done two of these in one day. Well, I'm itching to write something that's longer than 200 words, but I feel like the remaining **drabble123** prompts are hanging over my head, so I can't. Yes, I'm aware that doesn't make any sense. :P Anyway, I'm going to try (operative word being try) to write at least two of these double drabbles per day until I've finished off all the prompts in my table. I need to get these out of my head so I can move on. I swear I'm not trying to spam this site, but if you feel spammed, close your eyes and think of England. Oops, sorry, I mean, close your eyes and ignore these. I promise I won't be offended. :)

Oh, and I wrote this because it's cold and nasty here, and after the drugs finally kicked in and killed my headache, I started daydreaming about better weather. 


	34. Partners

**Title:** Partners (Double Drabble #34)  
**Characters:** Booth, Brennan  
**Written for: **drabble123 at LJ  
**Prompt:** #14 (Certainty)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count: **200  
**Timeline:** Sometime after _Santa in the Slush _  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

They're stopped at a red light when Booth says, "You ever hear from Sully?" The words sound casual, but he regrets asking the question. 

He thinks she'd tell him if she was seeing someone. Knowing her, she'd give him so many details he'd have to blow his entire next paycheck on socks and ties. Which makes him wonder if Sully still has a hold on her. He'd know, wouldn't he?

Brennan's eyebrows lift in surprise, but she meets his gaze directly when she answers. "He sends me an occasional postcard." She shrugs. "I don't write back, though."

"Why not?"

"Because it would only be an unnecessary social nicety. Sully and I are over. I cared for him very much"--Booth's jaw tightens, and he forces it to relax--"but he's there, I'm here."

"And you're ok with that?" Another question he hadn't intended to ask, but he can't seem to control his mouth.

"Of course." She smiles, and he finds himself smiling back. "I chose to stay. I have a life to live and work to do."

"I know. I was just wondering."

"I'm glad you asked."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Partners should feel comfortable discussing their respective romantic relationships."

"So...How about them Steelers?"

**Author's Note:** I have just discovered the joys of lolcats/animal macros. ;)


	35. Negotiation

**Title:** Negotiation (Double Drabble #35)  
**Characters:** Booth, Brennan  
**Written for: **drabble123 at LJ  
**Prompt:** #19 (Surprise)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count: **200  
**Timeline: ** Future**  
Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Please note that this is a companion to Stalemate (Chapter 17). This won't make much sense if you don't read that first.**

As Booth gets ready for bed, he brushes his teeth and tries not to see the pieces of her that are scattered around his place--like the mousse sitting next to his gel.

Though the sheets are icy when he climbs into bed, he forces his eyes closed. He sleeps for only a few minutes at a time, and that feels worse than not sleeping at all.

When a shadow melts out of the blackness, he doesn't reach for his gun. Three breaths later, the bed dips. He remains still; it's her move.

The silence nearly breaks under the weight of their words.

"I don't want to hurt you--" she finally says.

"Too late."

"--But I can't give you up either."

The words fill him with hollow satisfaction. Why should he be the only one to want what he can't have?

"What do you want, Bones?" he asks, his voice unrecognizable.

"You." Her answer surprises him.

"What if you can't have that?"

"Is that the case?"

Though not doing so still might cost him everything, he isn't ready to call her bluff yet. "No."

She exhales. "I'm...sorry."

Nothing's resolved, but he believes her. "I know. Come here." He opens his arms.

**Author's Note: ** Does this seem like a copout, or can you feel the ambiguity?


	36. Dreamweaver

**Title:** Dreamweaver (Ficlet #36)  
**Characters: ** Booth, Brennan  
**Series: **All That Lies Between Us  
** Rating: **PG  
**Word Count:** 445  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Timeline: ** Sometime in the third season; doesn't matter when.

**Author's Note: ** Since it appears I've traumatized a few people with my parody!fic, consider this a peace offering. I swear I'll never write anything like that again. Well, at least not today. The prompt for the following ficlet is "dreams," and I tried to keep it to 200 words so I could use it for my **drabble123** table, but it didn't want to cooperate. Anyway, here goes...

* * *

Conversation flows around them as the other people in the diner eat breakfast and get ready to face the day. Brennan swirls a tiny spoon around and around in her coffee, and on each revolution it taps the cup with an audible clink. After watching her do this for a full minute, Booth scoops some omelet into his mouth and then sets his fork down on his plate. When his hand captures her wrist, she looks up, blinking as if she's just woken from a trance. "Earth to Bones." He waves his other hand in front of her face. 

"Stop that," she says, shooting him a quelling glance.

Releasing her wrist, he sits back. "What's on your mind?" he asks, noting shadows the color of day-old bruises under her eyes.

"Do you promise not to laugh?"

"No, but tell me anyway."

Her shoulders slump, and he sits up a little straighter, giving her his full attention. "I keep having a recurring dream, and it's disturbing my sleep." He opens his mouth to speak, but she rushes on. "And before you say anything, I know I'm being silly. In some cultures, people believe dreams are prophetic." She coughs. "I don't believe any such thing."

"But it's bugging you anyway?"

"Yes," she admits, propping her chin in her hand.

"What kind of dream is it?" He waggles his eyebrows.

She frowns, narrowing her eyes at him. "Not that kind."

"So tell me about it."

Brennan makes a face and sips her coffee. "There's a man--in my room. He stands in the doorway and watches me sleep."

"Who is it?" While he realizes she isn't talking about a real person, his brain races with questions about the imaginary perv. He'd like to run a check on him.

"Well that's just it; I can't see his face because it's always in shadow."

"Does he ever talk?"

"No."

"So he just stands there?"

"Yes."

It's weird to be talking about a dream like it means something, but he can tell she's unsettled. That makes his fingers twitch, and he finds himself wanting to reassure her. "Maybe he's watching _over _you, not watching you in a creepy, stalker kind of way."

Something flickers in her gaze as she considers his words. He realizes he's said the right thing when her face relaxes, and she snags a piece of toast off his plate. "Hey, hands off my food," he says.

"Thank you, Booth. I'm hungrier than I thought was." Her teeth flash white as she bites into the crisp, buttery bread, showering crumbs over her plate.

Smiling, Booth folds his arms over his chest and leans back to watch her eat.


	37. Sticks and Stones

**Title:** Sticks and Stones (Double Drabble #37)  
**Written for:** drabble123 at LJ  
**Prompt: **#5 (Endearments)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Timeline:** During Season 3.  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

He gave her the nickname during the first days of their acquaintance, before they were partners. When he'd stepped forward and offered his hand, she'd turned her elegant head, and he'd felt her look right through him. The prettiest squint he'd ever seen, and she didn't even see him. 

That was all it took for the devil on his shoulder his mother had warned him about to sit up and take notice.

Seeley Booth had never liked being ignored.

Instinctively, he'd known he could make those cool blue eyes snap. Just like he'd known he'd get Kate Donovan's attention by snapping her bra. It had almost been worth the visit to the principal's office--and the subsequent kiss of his father's belt.

Here was this woman in love with logic, reason, and science, and he'd known exactly how to take her from zero to sixty in ten seconds.

He still did.

But the joke was on him. Because what had begun as a means to irritate an irritating woman, had transformed into something more dangerous.

Who knew when it had happened? Maybe around the time she stopped saying, "Don't call me Bones," and started responding like that really was her name.

**Author's Note: **I sincerely hope no one took _Revelations: A Parody_ seriously. I don't write that badly unless I'm trying to. If you're unsure about the definition of a parody, here it is: "A literary or artistic work that imitates the characteristic style of an author or a work for comic effect or ridicule."

Sorry I'm behind on replying to comments and messages; I'm trying to catch up.


	38. Pictures of You

**Title:** Pictures of You (Double Drabble #38)  
**Written for:** drabble123 at LJ  
**Prompt: **#1 (Infatuation)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Timeline:** After _The Mummy in the Maze._  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Dead leaves crunch under Booth's shoes as he steps off the sidewalk and into Barnes & Noble. He breathes deeply, letting the warm air push the November chill from his lungs. 

The kid's section is his first stop, and he finds three books for Parker. Afterward, he heads for the cash registers.

On impulse, he veers toward the mystery section. When he finds what he's looking for, he sets Parker's books on a shelf. Then he tucks his gloves into his coat pocket before grabbing Bred in Bone. 

The hardcover book is a solid weight in his hands. She looks out from the back flap, her gaze turned toward the left. It's her--only not. Her mouth quirks in the briefest of smiles, and as he traces it with his index finger, a flicker of jealousy dances up his spine. What did the photographer say to coax that secret smile from her? No stranger should get the kind of smile he'd worked for months to get. 

A glance at his watch pulls him from his thoughts and pushes him toward the front of the store. 

The pretty blonde cashier smiles as she hands him the bag, but he barely notices. 

**Author's Note: **I'm so happy the WGA strike is officially over. :) 


	39. More Than Words

**Title:** More Than Words (Double Drabble #39)  
**Written for:** drabble123 at LJ  
**Prompt: **#18 (Rare)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Timeline:** After _Santa in the Slush._  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Just like Brennan teases secrets from the dead, Booth knows how to get what he needs from the living. He talks a lot, without revealing much about himself. There's something in the patient set of her head, though, that makes him want to tell her all the things that matter. It's no accident she knows more about him than any woman he's dated. More than his priest, even. She knows about Kosovo, knows about his list. Because he told her. 

Honestly, she often says the wrong thing, her words awkward and halting. But it isn't the words or how she speaks them; it's her eyes. They gut him with their strange combination of experience and innocence--leave him spread open--with secrets spilling out.

Pushing his sunglasses up on his nose, he turns his head and finds her watching him. Wind filters through the half-open windows, snapping at her hair.

Unlike most people, Brennan doesn't talk unless she has something to say, doesn't seem to need to fill silence. But silence can be dangerous sometimes--like now--when he doesn't know how much longer he can dam the words building in his chest. Smiling tightly, he turns on the radio.  
**  
Author's Note: **It's official: Booth and Brennan have eaten my brain.


	40. What the Heart Knows

**Title:** What the Heart Knows (Double Drabble #40)  
**Written for:** drabble123 at LJ  
**Prompt: **#7 (Bliss)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Timeline:** Set at the very end of _The Bodies in the Book._  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Booth drew it himself--that solid black line between them--intending to permanently separate "you" and "me" from the risky territory of "us." 

But what does the human heart know of geometry, geography, or cartography?

It knows blood, like his fingertips know the rasp of dried blood and Technicolor bruises blooming obscenely on her pale skin.

It knows fear, as time slows down and speeds up, sucking the air from his lungs as surely as it devours the air in her metal prison.

And it knows envy, that cardinal sin, as Booth stands frozen, watching through her office window with wide eyes while she kisses another man.

Sully has dark hair and dark eyes, and he carries a badge just like he does. But he isn't him.

Booth's feet move because he forces them to, taking him away from the lab that bustles with _his_ people. Unfortunately, the physical distance doesn't do anything for the unwanted afterimage branded into his retinas.

Brennan's happiness matters; he's glad she's finally doing something besides staring at moldy old bones, isn't he?

As Booth steps outside, a bitter smile twists his lips. God must exist; no one else could have this perfect a sense of irony.

** Author's Note: **Tell me you didn't want to hug Booth when you saw the look on his face during the last scene of _The Bodies in the Book_.


	41. Sway

**Title:** Sway (Double Drabble #41)  
**Written for:** drabble123 at LJ  
**Prompt: **#8 (Home)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Timeline: ** Future  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Note: **This chapter is dedicated to Anslie. Thanks for making me smile.

* * *

After a day spent mediating asinine disputes between Hodgins and Zack about who was monarch of the lab, Brennan fantasized about the warm comfort of her bed. But when she stepped into her apartment, the sound of masculine humming greeted her. Her shoulders slumped as she realized Booth had let himself in. 

Though tempted to tiptoe into her bedroom, she recognized the futility of that idea. Ever the pragmatist, she paused for only a moment before striding into her kitchen. The weariness in her muscles lifted an iota as she observed the pot chattering happily on the stove. She inhaled; the air was redolent with garlic and tomato. Booth pivoted to face her.

"Bones... Ready for my six hour sauce?" She quirked an eyebrow, and he added, "Ok, I only had time for Ragu."

"Thank you, Booth, but I'm inclined to go straight to bed."

"What? No foreplay?" He winked. "At least dance with me first."

"There's no music."

"But they're playing our song," he said, sliding his arms around her waist and swaying them gently to a tune only he heard. "Hear it now?" he murmured.

With a sigh, she nodded, letting herself fall headfirst into that crooked grin.

**Author's Note:** Yesterday I received the following anonymous review from "Anslie," someone with whom I've had absolutely no contact before:

"While I enjoyed these drabbles at first I think there's getting to be too many of them. I just wish you'd take the time it takes you to write a bunch of drabbles, and write a full-length story instead. Just my opinion." 

Since the review is anonymous, I can't reply to Anslie directly. Anslie, I hope you don't see this because if you do, that would mean you're still reading something you don't like, which is probably a waste of time unless you're trying to criticize bad!fic or do a literary analysis of a given work--neither of which you were attempting to do.

I thought about explaining the concept of constructive criticism to you. I thought about explaining that many of these double drabbles and ficlets are written in response to a prompt challenge. I thought about explaining my writing process to you. I thought about discussing my writing goals with you. I thought about telling you what the rest of my life is like and what bearing that has on my writing. I thought about explaining to you that when it comes to writing, 1 plus 1 does not equal 2--one doesn't simply substitute time spent writing double drabbles or ficlets for time spent writing longer stories or vice versa. I thought about discussing different forms or containers of writing with you. I thought about telling you what writing takes out of the writer--and what it gives back.

But then I decided that sometimes the simplest response is the best. So I'll leave it at this:

1. If you don't like my drabbles, double drabbles, and ficlets, don't read them. Seriously, no one is forcing you to read my scribblings.

2. Until the day you pay me to write, or I ask you for a prompt, Anslie, _I don't write for you_. I write Bones fanfic for me and post it on the 'net because I think, and yes, even hope, that another Bones fan might be entertained by them. If you read my stories, great. If you don't read them, also great. Trust me, I'll live either way.

3. I have no idea how you define a "full-length story," but if you look under my profile, you'll find several of what I imagine some would consider "full-length" stories. Please don't read them; they are destined to disappoint you.

Just my opinion.

To anyone else who reads this, I salute you for your patience. I can and do address constructive criticism with grace; I can give you names of people you can talk to if you've any doubt about that. What "Anslie" sent doesn't qualify as con crit; it doesn't even talk about the writing itself.


	42. Moondance

**Title:** Moondance (Double Drabble #42)  
**Written for:** drabble123 at LJ  
**Prompt: **#15 (Date)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Timeline: **During the spring after _The Santa in the Slush._  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Note: **Since it takes me a while to get all my individual replies out, I think I'm going to start thanking whoever commented on the previous chapter here as a stop-gap. I'll still respond personally, but this will help me feel less guilty in the meantime. So, that said, many thanks go to I hart Booth, CheeseBK, girltype, DaLiza, Anslie, dee, mumrulz, MoonlightGardenias, CSI-4077, xHouseLoverx, Temperance-is -a -virtue, Limone, SpikesSweetie, filou81, ReticentWriter, TVObsessee, yorkiegirl159, SnoopGirl69, oc1968, mbird, ginormoussvufan, o0MissBennet0o, forensicsfan, HawkAngel XD, boneskittie, ForRomance, Chicklit, DOC3, and TemperTemper for commenting on Sway (Ch. 41) Many thanks to those who have commented on previous chapters, too, as well as those who are lurking. I write for myself first and foremost, but I am thrilled to have you all along for the ride.

I think it's worth reiterating that I always address constructive criticism gracefully. Again, if you're unsure about that, I can point you toward several people who will confirm that I deal with con crit in a cordial fashion. I'm not perfect; I'm sure I make mistakes. So if you see a grammar, punctuation, or characterization mistake, please feel free to point it out to me. I promise I don't bite. :) If I don't agree with your comments, I won't make any changes, but if you give me con. crit, I promise I'll address it in a friendly and kind fashion.

However, I agree with Wikipedia in the belief that "Constructive criticism is the process of offering valid and well-reasoned opinions about the work of others with the intention of helping the reader or the artist, rather than creating an oppositional attitude." Thus, if anyone posts anonymous comments that don't deal with the actual text of my writing, and which simultaneously smack of entitlement and a consumerist attitude toward an endeavor for which I don't get paid, I will not treat those comments as constructive criticism. Not all opinions or comments qualify as constructive criticism. Thanks for reading; I know this is a long note. If you have any questions, please let me know.

* * *

"Where are we going?" 

"You'll see," he replies. As they walk, the plastic bag swings from Booth's wrist in a careless rhythm. Insects chirp in a nighttime symphony that makes him want to hum along.

Brennan's footsteps halt once they turn the corner. "What are we doing here?"

"Swinging, Bones." At her quizzical look, he snags her wrist with his free hand, tugging her onto the playground.

They each take a swing. Booth pushes off, feeling the day's tension flow out of him.

For several minutes they move in silence, listening to the creak of metal, each lost in their own thoughts.

The warm spring air flows over Booth, and he sighs before finally stopping. He pulls sandwiches from the bag--eggplant for her, ham for him. Though his stomach growls, he's content to watch Brennan for a while longer. Her legs stretch on the upswing, her hair streaming behind her in a dark ribbon.

"Is this a date?" she asks eventually, gaze still turned skyward.

He kicks at the ground. "Don't know. Do you want it to be?"

"I don't know."

"Why don't we both think about it?"

"All right," she replies, smiling, her eyes gleaming silver in the moonlight.

* * *

**Anslie:**

Once again, you didn't leave any contact info or sign in with an FF dot net username, so I can't PM or email you. If what you took away from my note and my profile was that I am troubled by your use of an alias, that I think the world is going to end because of your comments, and that I am conceited, rude, and unwilling to accept anything less than abject worship, you didn't read either very carefully. Since this is going to be our last communication, I'll leave you with this thought: it's a shame that you equate length with depth and brevity with shallowness. That means you're missing out on the magic of Neruda's _Sonnet XVII_, Longfellow's _The Village Blacksmith, _and the shorter works of Eudora Welty and John Steinbeck.

It's been a pleasure.

Best regards,  
L.


	43. Star Light, Star Bright

**Title:** Star Light, Star Bright (Double Drabble #43)  
**Written for:** drabble123 at LJ  
**Prompt: **#13. Dreams.  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Timeline: **Season 3 summer.  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
** Notes: **Thank you to danireed, DOC3, SnoopGirl69, xHouseLoverx, forensicsfan, addtcdtobones, & dawnmei for their comments on Ch. 42. If I could, I would send you Booth, Brennan, or the _Bones_ character of your choice. ;)

* * *

They're seated side by side on the curb outside the Jeffersonian one hot summer night when the moon hangs high and full. As Booth sips his beer, a glimmering star catches his eye. Smiling, he pictures Parker looking out the window reciting _Star Light, Star Bright_. "Say, Bones, if you could make one wish--any wish--and have it come true, what would you wish for?" 

Brennan's forehead wrinkles as her fingers skim the condensation on her bottle. "I don't believe in wishes, Booth."

"I know, but just pretend for a sec. It's a hypothetical question."

Without a breeze, the air presses thickly against their skin. Shrugging, Brennan lifts her hand and brushes her damp fingers over her mouth. The gesture seems absentminded, but Booth's mouth turns dry. "Obviously, I would wish for an infinite number of wishes."

He groans at her logic. "Come on, Bones," he says, waving away her answer. "That doesn't count."

"But you said I could make any wish."

"Any wish but that one. Try again."

Their shoulders brush as she shifts. "I would wish my parents had stayed," she replies softly. "Does that count?"

Booth leans in until their shoulders touch again. "Yeah, Bones, it does."

* * *

**Author's Note: **For anyone who doesn't know it, _Star Light, Star Bright_ is a nursery rhyme that goes like this: 

Star light, star bright,  
First star I see tonight,  
I wish I may, I wish I might,  
Have the wish I wish tonight.


	44. Actions Speak

**Title:** Actions Speak (Double Drabble #44)  
**Written for:** drabble123 at LJ  
**Prompt: **#6. Vow.  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Timeline: **Set during the end of _The Boneless Bride in the River. _  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
** Notes: **Thank you to I hart Booth, Amok, HawkAngel XD, o0MissBennet0o, xHouseLoverx, GoldenLocks, TemperTemper, mumrulz, Sarali1983, yorkiegirl159, mistopher, freelancer-babe, TVObsessee, LordlLanceahlot, addtcdtobones, dawnmei, forensicsfan, and MoonlightGardenias for their comments on Ch. 43. I want you guys--and everyone who's commented before--to know how much I appreciate your making the effort to comment. It is always nice to know people are reading this. Also, Star Light, Star Bright (Ch. 43) is one of my favorites, so I'm especially happy to know some of you were touched by it. Writing ficlets reminds me of all the little things in life that matter even though they're small. Thank you, as always, for your encouragement and your suggestions. Have a great wkend!

* * *

Early morning sunlight glints on the water as Booth stands on the docks and watches Sully wave from aboard Temperance. Brennan waves back, a breeze ruffling the ends of her hair. The set of her shoulders tells Booth everything he needs to know regarding her feelings about watching yet another person walk--or in this case sail--away from her. At least she got to say goodbye this time. He hopes that helps somewhat. 

When she turns, he makes sure he's wearing an irritating smirk. She isn't crying, thank God; it was bad enough watching her make out with Sully. He doesn't want to have to hold her as she cries for him, too.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, her expression pouty, reminding him of Parker when he doesn't get his way.

"Waving goodbye. See?" He lifts his hand in a little wave, letting his smirk widen.

"What do you want?"

Booth answers her, his mouth moving, but the exact words don't matter. One night she asked him if she should go. He told her to live wide. This morning his answer--the one that matters--is in the way his arm wraps 'round her shoulders and pulls her into his side.


	45. Don't Go

**Title:** Don't Go (Double Drabble #45)  
**Written for:** drabble123 at LJ  
**Prompt: **#20. Writer's choice.  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Timeline: **Missing scene for _The Boneless Bride in the River. _Takes place after Brennan asks Booth if she should go with Sully--and after Booth leaves the lab.  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Thanks: **Thank you to I hart Booth, Nikki, TemperTemper, DaLiza, alterangirl, xHouseLoverx, mistopher, SpikesSweetie, mumrulz, DOC3, CSI-4077, yorkiegirl159, Cheryl, o0MissBennet0o, SnoopGirl69, HawkAngel XD, boneskittie, forensicsfan, Chicklit, piratesmiley, addtcdtobones, and MoonlightGardenias for their comments on Ch. 44. Thank you as well to those who sent me PMs or emails or commented on previous chapters. I know I'm repeating myself by saying thank you, but I really am grateful for your comments. :)

* * *

Driving home from the lab with the radio on, the only thing Booth hears is her question: _You think I should go?_

Brennan's always had a knack for asking questions he struggles to answer. If he hesitated for too long, she'd notice--and call him on it. So he only paused long enough to check with his gut before he told her to live wide. 

What he thinks and what he wants aren't the same thing, but she didn't ask what he wants. 

Booth wants lots of things he can't have, and she was never his to begin with. His partner, yes. His friend, even. But not his in the way he believes one person can belong to another. 

Not Sully's either, he thinks, unable to suppress the twinge of satisfaction that appears at that thought. No, Brennan belongs to herself.

But he can picture her on a boat, can taste the salty wind that tangles her hair. 

The sun'll leave freckles on her cheeks and he won't get to see them. 

She'd be crazy not to go and while Brennan's a lot of things, she definitely isn't crazy. 

His hands clench on the steering wheel; she's going to leave him.

**A/N:** This grew out of my curiosity regarding what Booth might have been thinking later on during the night that Brennan asked him if she should travel with Sully.

BTW, if anyone's wondering, I'm not through writing longer stories. ;)


	46. Linger

**Title:** Linger (Double Drabble #46)  
**Written for:** drabble123 at LJ  
**Prompt: **#11. Pleasure.  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Timeline: **Takes place during the third season--sometime before _The Santa in the Slush_.  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Thanks: **Hugs and thanks go out to TVObsessee, boneskittie, SpikesSweetie, sheytune, o0MissBennet0o, TemperTemper, mistopher, forensicsfan, MoonlightGardenias, yorkiegirl159, aqiran, ItBeatsMe, danireed, I hart Booth, CSI-4077, xHouseLoverx, DOC3, SnoopGirl69, DaLiza, mumrulz, and HawkAngel XD for their comments on #45. Loving fictional people may be crazy, but I'm happy knowing I'm not alone. ;)

* * *

They're seated at the bar, sipping the drinks Sid set in front of them. Booth dips his fingers into a red dish and fishes out another peanut. When Brennan's mouth opens, he knows she's about to lecture him about germs. He cuts her a warning glance; her mouth shuts. "You're actually going to listen to me?" 

She shrugs and raises an eyebrow. "I just thought I would be gracious and let you win this battle--since it's obvious I win every war."

"Whatever. You're delusional." Closing his eyes, Booth sighs and rolls his head, trying to loosen the knot in his shoulder.

"Turn around."

Booth's eyes open at the command. "What?"

"You're clearly in pain. Turn around."

Her gaze is steady, so he obeys, shifting to give her his back.

Anticipation sharpens his senses: he feels her gaze before she even touches him. He thinks he's ready for it, but he nearly jumps when her hands descend.

"There?"

"Higher."

He bites back a moan as her thumb presses into just the right spot.

This is one thing he misses about having a girlfriend.

For several long, silent minutes, Brennan kneads his shoulders.

"Better?" she eventually asks.

"Yeah." Booth turns, swallowing. "Thanks."

**A/N:** Who else misses Sid and Wong Foo's? They were there one day, and then they just disappeared.


	47. Surfacing

**Title:** Surfacing (Double Drabble #46)  
**Written for:** drabble123 at LJ  
**Prompt: **#16. Rose.  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Timeline: **This takes place during _The Boneless Bride in the River_, after Brennan tells Sully she can't go with him, and he leaves the lab.  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Thanks: **Thank you, boneskittie, dawnmei, PokerPrincess7, and TVObsessee, for your comments on #46. You rock my socks. :D

* * *

William Chang and Li Ling Fan's skeletons lie side by side. Angela's artistic rendering of the couple keeps watch nearby. Looking at them, Brennan can't keep the tears from her eyes. Bile rises in her throat, and for a fraction of a second she questions her decision. She treasures her solitude and independence, but she is so tired of being alone. What if she's sacrificing her own happiness by making this irrational decision? 

Booth and Angela told her she should go. Rationality dictates that she go; she wants to go. But she told Sully the truth: she _can't_ join him on his travels.

This decision defies logic in a way that makes her stomach churn. When Sully asked what was holding her here, she couldn't answer--because she doesn't know the answer. This--the not knowing--terrifies her.

Unlike Angela, she doesn't believe hearts can speak. And yet something--maybe the gut or intuition Booth references--tells her she needs to stay. Something binds her to this place, this life, as securely as the handcuffs Booth carries have bound the wrists of countless suspects.

Though she can't name it, she feels it slowly rising to the surface. Foolishly, she hopes time will solve the mystery.

* * *

**A/N: **I wrote this one because I've always thought Emily Deschanel's acting in this scene is just fantastic. Brennan's told Sully she can't go with him, and now it's just her alone with the skeletons. She looks at them and at the picture Angela drew and you can just see the conflict on her face and in her eyes. Brennan's made the decision to stay in DC based on something outside rationality and logic, and she's tormented by it. But she still can't leave. :) 

The drabble123 challenge at LiveJournal consists of 20 prompts. I have one more prompt to go and then I'll have completed the challenge. I can't quite explain why, but I've felt compelled to finish this challenge quickly. I plan to keep writing ficlets in addition to longer stories, but I haven't settled on a schedule yet. Yorkiegirl159 recently sent me a couple one word prompts. (Thanks, Yorkiegirl!) If anyone else has prompts they'd like to send me, whether they're words, lyrics, pictures, a Bones scene, or whatever, please feel free to do so. You can PM me, stick prompts in a review, or email me. My email address is in my profile.


	48. Proof

**Title:** Proof (Double Drabble #48)  
**Written for:** drabble123 at LJ  
**Prompt: **#10. Grace.  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count:** 200  
**Timeline: **This is a missing scene for the end of _The Man in the Morgue_.  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely mean to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Thanks: **Thank you, addtcdtobones, mistopher, CSI-4077, HawkAngel XD, forensicsfan, yorkiegirl59, MoonlightGardenias, GGJunkie3, o0MissBennet0o, mumrulz, ForRomance, xHouseLoverx, DaLiza, & SnoopGirl69, for your comments on #47. I love you like Booth loves Brennan. ;)

* * *

"Does that prove something?" Angela asked. 

Brennan studied the earring. "Yeah." She glanced at Angela with the beginnings of a smile. "It proves something."

A suspicion tickled her mind. Without offering any explanation, Brennan hurried out of her office to catch her partner.

"Booth," she called out when she sighted his jacket-clad back.

He turned, eyebrows raised in question. "What?"

"Answer my question."

"Which one?"

"Where did you find the earring?"

"Doesn't matter. What matters is you have it back."

"It matters to me," she insisted. "Where did you find it?"

Booth shrugged and looked at his shoes. "At Legiere's place," he finally answered, confirming her suspicion.

"That's why you said you'd bet your career on my innocence. You compromised evidence," she said, her voice a mixture of anger and wonder. "Why would you do that for me?"

"Why'd you introduce me to Peter LeSalle as your friend and not your partner?" he countered.

"Because you are my friend," she said, knowing it was the truth. Uncertainty warred with impulse; Brennan surrendered to the latter and placed her uninjured hand on Booth's arm. "Thank you."

His gaze flicked from her hand to her eyes. "You're welcome," he replied, smiling.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm done! I think some people misunderstood my last author's note. I'm not done writing double drabbles and ficlets; I just meant that I had one more prompt to go before I finished the drabble123 LiveJournal challenge. I'm not sure yet if I'll keep posting them at this pace, but I'll keep writing these as long as I have ideas. There's plenty of material left in the show, and people have sent me some lovely additional prompts. So these aren't going anywhere. If you've got prompts in the form of words, Bones scenes, song lyrics, pictures, or whatever, feel free to PM me, email me, or leave the prompts in a review. 

Re: this double drabble, I adore ___The Man in the Morgue_ because I see it as being all about Booth and Brennan's growing friendship, their respect for each other, and their faith in one another. But I was never satisfied with the ending--especially in light of the beautiful conversation they had about why Booth is nice to Brennan. That said, as much as I like Booth/Brennan hugs and smoochies, I just couldn't see either happening at the end of this episode. In my opinion, this episode called for more than we got but still something more restrained than an embrace or a kiss.


	49. No Reason

**Title:** No Reason (Double Drabble #49)  
**Rating: **T for a wee bit o'language.**  
Word Count:** 200  
**Timeline: **Season 3  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely mean to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Thanks: **Thank you, freelancer-babe, yorkiegirl59, MoonlightGardenias, xHouseLoverx, TVObsessee, Cheryl, Limone, boneskittie, PokerPrincess7, SpikesSweetie, CSI-4077, Nikki, SplishySplash, sheytune, Anon, and I Hart Booth, for your comments on #48.

* * *

Angela doesn't try as hard to push them together now as she did before. Not because she doesn't still think Brennan should dip her fingers in that tasty FBI pie. But it's begun--without too much help from her. 

Brennan stopped saying, "Don't call me Bones," a while ago, and there's no reason why Booth keeps resting his hand at her back.

Angela knows love when she sees it; she sees it whenever she wakes to find Jack looking at her with those eyes she can never quite capture no matter how many shades of cobalt, manganese, thalo, and ultramarine she mixes in her palette.

They're arguing, and God, it really is hot, so she puts down her pencil, folds her arms over her chest, and stops to watch. It should be illegal to stand that close to someone you're not fucking, but there Booth stands, crowding her best friend with that big body of his and eyeing her like he wants to bend her over one of the stainless steel worktables.

She catches Jack's eye and tilts her head in their direction. "Check them out," she mouths, and he just smiles and shakes his head, curls dancing over his forehead.

* * *

**A/N: **I have no idea where this came from, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. 

I think the next update will be for something longer.


	50. Butterfly

**Title: ** Butterfly**  
Word Count: ** 200  
**Timeline:** Season 3  
**Notes: **I wrote this in response to a writing exercise that Willgirl posted at The Anti-Boneyard: "**Finish the story. **Start with: 'Like a butterfly, she magically...'"

Thanks for the prompt, Will. :)  
**Acknowledgments: ** Many thanks to spaceyplum, boneskittie, HawkAngel XD, piratesmiley, DOC3, partsandpieces, I hart Booth, squillyfer, SpikesSweetie, the psycho sour skittle, TemperTemper, SnoopGirl69, mistopher, CSI-4077, Celia Stanton, kinseyjo, GGjunkie33, xHouseLoverx, addtcdtobones, DaLiza, stainedglasshorse, o0MissBennet0o, MoonlightGardenias, yorkiegirl159, mumrulz, forensicsfan, and TVObsessee for commenting on #49. I adore Angela, but I don't write in her point of view very often. Hearing that so many of enjoyed the last one was reassuring. Thank you again. :)

* * *

Like a butterfly, she magically appeared at his side, bathed in a soft, white glow that made Booth's breath catch in his throat. 

"I'll never let go, Booth," Brennan murmured, brushing gentle fingers across his cheek.

He sighed and reached out, intending to wrap his arms around her, but then he suddenly felt a sharp pain. "Oww!" he yelped, opening his eyes to find Brennan staring at him with a quizzical frown -- and no soft, white glow. He rubbed his forearm and tried not to whimper. "That hurt. Why'd you pinch me?" he complained, slowly sitting up on her office couch.

"I tried calling your name several times, but you were completely unresponsive."

"So you pinched me?"

"I also considered dousing you with cold water," she replied with a shrug.

"Gee, thanks, Bones." Booth blinked slowly, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes.

"You're quite welcome, Booth."

"That was sarcasm."

"I know." A smirk curved Brennan's lips, and Booth mentally braced himself for whatever she'd say next. "You were mumbling something about never letting go." The smirk widened. "That must have been an interesting dream."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

He was never watching _Titanic_ again.

**A/N:** I hope this made you smile.


	51. Falling

**Title: **Falling**  
Word Count: **150 (a drabble and a half.) ;)  
**Rating:** M  
**Timeline: **Future  
**Spoilers: ** Oblique reference to something in _Death in the Saddle._**  
Prompt: **Shift  
**Feedback: **is always appreciated. If criticizing, please be constructive.  
**Acknowledgments: ** Many thanks to freelancer-babe, GGjunkie33, LocoGreggo, A, ReadingRed, addtcdtobones, piratesmiley, Temperance-is -a -virtue, the psycho sour skittle, SpikesSweetie, I hart Booth, mumrulz, TemperTemper, kinseyjo, spaceyplum, DaLiza, CSIbrainwashed, Nikki, HawkAngel XD, TVObsessee, forensicsfan, yorkiegirl159, o0MissBennet0o, BoothlovesBones, squinter, ForRomance, xHouseLoverx, CSI-4077, dawnmei, and stainedglasshorse for commenting on #50.

I'm glad I did make some of you smile! Thank you again--for making ME smile. :)

* * *

Brennan's leg slipped from around his hip, and she dragged her foot over his calf. A satisfied sigh fell from her lips, and though his arousal was still sharp, Booth smiled. "Good?" he asked, feathering his fingers over her warm cheek. 

"Mmhmm." She took his hand, looking down at their linked fingers. A series of emotions shifted over her face so quickly he couldn't identify them all.

He waited.

"You… were right," she said, gazing at him with eyes so deep he thought he could fall into them and never hit bottom.

"About what?"

Without answering, Brennan wrapped her leg around him and pushed against his chest so he rolled onto his back. She straddled him, lowering herself till he slid back inside her. When she leaned down, he threaded his fingers through the dark cloud of her hair.

"About making love," she said against his lips, swallowing his moan.


	52. Starving

**Words:** 330  
**Rating: ** PG  
**Timeline: **Set two months after _The Santa in the Slush_

**Acknowledgments: ** Thank you to mrs. huntzberger, mumrulz, LordLanceahlot, kinseyjo, Cheryl, forensicsfan, DaLiza, HawkAngel XD, fanofbones, CSIbrainwashed, addtcdtobones, xHouseLoverx, yorkiegirl159, BGWGscienceteacher, SpikesSweetie, Deirax, Chicklit, CSI-4077, partsandpieces, maxamilla, & Terraphim86 for commenting on #51. I'm grateful that you took the time to comment. Thank you:)

**Notes: ** I wrote this to cheer myself up after the end of The Wire, one of the finest TV shows I've ever watched.

* * *

"Bones! Let's go. It's lunchtime, and I'm starving." 

Brennan turned her attention away from Angela to see Booth peering at her from the doorway. "You're always starving. Mealtimes don't appear to have anything to do with it."

"I'm going to ignore that because I"--he grinned and pointed his thumbs at himself--"am in a very good mood."

"And why might that be?"

"Because it's Wednesday," he said, a stunned expression on his face, "and that means it's chili day at the diner."

Wrinkling her nose, Brennan said, "Then perhaps we should take separate cars."

"Is this a secret code for you two?" Angela shifted on the couch, turning to look at Booth. "You never ask me to join you for lunch." The mischievous smile playing about her mouth telegraphed the lascivious intent of her next words before she even spoke them. "So, does 'chili day' mean you're about to sneak home for a quickie?"

"Angela, just because you and Hodgins run off to the Egyptian exhibit during lunch doesn't mean everyone else is doing similar things."

"But they should be," Angela replied, her voice warm with laughter.

Groaning, Booth covered his ears. "I'm so not listening to this."

"Especially you two. This much unresolved sexual tension could be hazardous to your health. One day you'll just explode."

"That's scientifically dubious, Angela. People don't explode from sexual tension, and furthermore--"

"Honey, there's a first time for everything."

"--there is no unresolved tension of any kind between us, but if there was, it was resolved on Christmas Eve." Brennan stood and moved swiftly toward the door.

"What? Get back here, Bren."

"You heard Booth, it's chili day," she called over her shoulder, biting back a smile.

"You owe me an explanation, missy. Don't think I'm going to forget this," Angela said.

"That was cruel... So,"--Booth settled his hand at the small of her back--"your place or mine?"

"Mine," Brennan replied, grinning when Booth rolled his eyes. "What? It's closer."

* * *

** A/N: **It's like Booth said--"Everything happens eventually." ;) 


	53. Reflex

**Title: **Reflex  
**Words:** 1435  
**Rating: **T for some language**  
Timeline: **Set not too long after _3x13: The Verdict in the Story_._  
_**Notes:** This grew out of a writing prompt posted by willgirl.

**Acknowledgments: ** Thank you to o0MissBennet0o, I hart Booth, mumrulz, GGjunkie33, spacemonkey13, doyler, Bella-mi-amore, CheeseBK, sheytune, TVObsessee, fanofbones, DaLiza, danireed, spaceyplum, Melissa, PokerPrincess7, yorkiegirl159, SpikesSweetie, boneskittie, xHouseLoverx, piratesmiley, the ketchup queen, MoonlightGardenias, aqiran, SnoopGirl69, mistopher, Cheryl, HawkAngel XD, ForeverOdd, bcfan58, ReadingRed, kinseyjo, forensicsfan, TemperTemper. squinter, stainedglasshorse, and CSI-4077, for commenting on #52. As always, I enjoyed reading your comments. Thank you for taking the time to share them with me. :)

* * *

Watching her apply lipstick shouldn't be this interesting. Booth stood in the doorway of Brennan's office and found himself nearly hypnotized, his gaze tracking each stroke of red pigment on Brennan's mouth. Cultural significance blah blah blah, he could practically hear her say. To him, it just looked hot. "Objectifying yourself, Bones?" he asked, sarcastic smile firmly in place.

"I have a date," she replied, glancing down at a small mirror in her hand and sounding way too preoccupied for his liking. When she pressed her lips together, Booth nearly groaned at the sight, his body choosing that inconvenient moment to notice for the thousandth time that his partner was a gorgeous woman with a gorgeous mouth.

"Really?" He injected a note of skepticism into his voice as he strolled toward her.

"Don't sound so surprised, Booth."

Shrugging he said, "It's just that you hadn't mentioned you were seeing anyone." Leaning against the edge of her desk, he watched her retract the lipstick and stick the cap back on. When he'd decided to stop by, he'd expected to find Brennan nose deep in bone fragments or paperwork, not doing something girly like putting on makeup. For another man's benefit, his brain helpfully added.

"Do I tell you everything about my personal life?" she said.

"Actually, yeah. Usually you do." He barely repressed a shudder as her question reminded him of Sully and every excruciating detail of their relationship that she'd shared with him.

"Then I must have forgotten to mention it. It's a first date." When she reached for her purse, Booth snatched the tube of lipstick off the desk.

"Give it back," Brennan said, swatting his leg.

Satisfied now that he had her full attention, Booth ignored her and turned over the lipstick. "Ooooh, Scarlet Temptation." He snickered and glanced at Brennan. "Who the hell comes up with these names?" Not that she needed lipstick; her lips looked pretty damned tempting completely bare. Not that he'd noticed. Much.

"I'm going to be late." She shoved back her chair and stood, grabbing for the lipstick. He danced away from her, holding the treasure over his head. "Could you please stop being childish and give it back?"

He grinned. "Nope. Not till you tell me about the tool of the day."

"What?"

He rolled his eyes. "Who's this guy you're going out with tonight?"

"That's none of your business," she shot back, frowning.

He raised his eyebrows. "Since when?" If it had to do with Brennan, it was his business. Simple as that. He'd stopped asking himself exactly why that was the case a while ago. An anthropological inevitability. Or something. The sky was blue, grass was green, and Brennan was his business -- whether she liked it or not.

"Well, it's not as if you tell me about all the women you date -- or the ones with whom you satisfy your biological urges." She made another grab for the lipstick, but he palmed it with his other hand and held it behind his back.

"That's different." He really wished she'd stop talking about biological urges. The squint speak he'd gotten used to. But hearing those two words had the unfortunate effect of reminding him of the urges he'd been having whenever he came within ten feet of her.

"Oh? How so?"

"For starters, my track record's better than yours. None of the women I've dated are murderers or—"

"I'm going to ignore that comment," she said, giving him her snootiest look, "but only because I don't have time to engage in a debate with you right now."

"Oh, so now you don't have time for your partner?" he asked, annoyed by her changing priorities.

"Did you need something?" she asked, raising her arms in a questioning gesture. "From where I'm standing, it appears that you're only here to irritate me."

Moving more quickly than he thought she could given that she was wearing heels, Brennan lunged, catching his hand and trying to pry his fingers open. Booth stepped back, pulling her with him. She collided with his chest and he grinned. Having her this close wasn't exactly a bad thing.

Her blue eyes narrowed. "Give it back," she said, her warm breath puffing against his face.

"No." Laughing, Booth yanked his hand free and shoved the lipstick in his right pocket.

Arching an eyebrow, she smirked at him. "You think I wouldn't put my hand in your pocket?"

She'd do it. He didn't doubt that for a second. "I don't know. Would you?" he countered.

With her eyes locked on his, Brennan reached toward him. He captured her wrist before she got too close. "Trust me, Bones" -- still holding her wrist, he stepped forward, his free hand curving around the back of her neck -- "you don't need lipstick."

He kept his eyes open until the last possible second, watching her watch him as he leaned closer and closer. To his surprise, she didn't pull away. Even though she could have stopped him, she didn't. Her lips parted, and she inhaled. When her eyes finally closed, he let his slide shut, too.

Her lips were softer than he remembered. Warmer. Moving slowly against his like every single fantasy he'd never admit having. Like she wanted this, him, as badly as he wanted her. There were no holidays at stake and no family members to disappoint, he realized with satisfaction. This was purely about them, and if she didn't want him, well, she could just pull away.

No steamboats to count this time. Good thing, too, because he couldn't have kept count if he'd tried.

He flicked his tongue against her bottom lip, tasting lipstick she didn't need. A distant part of his mind recognized this was way over the line, but he didn't fucking care. Who knew why he'd done it? The only thing that mattered -- the only thing Booth cared about -- was that he'd done it, and now she stood pressed against him, arms wound 'round his neck, while he swallowed the tiny noises she made in the back of her throat.

Awareness returned slowly, but return it did. Booth finally had to acknowledge they were standing in Brennan's office making out. Yeah, it was evening, so many people would have left already, but anyone who looked through those big, sparkling windows would see them. There was one small problem: he didn't want to stop. He wanted to touch her -- wherever and however she'd let him.

Booth pulled away, reluctantly breaking the kiss. His hand drifted up from her hip, and he brushed his thumb over her naked mouth. "I told you you didn't need lipstick." He'd kissed it off her, he thought, smiling.

"I have to go," she said, sounding guarded. Without looking at him, she retreated, dipping her head to look at her watch.

"Go where?"

"How many times must I tell you this? I have a date." He watched as she marched to her desk and gathered her purse and a stack of manila folders.

"You're seriously going to go out with this guy? After we..."

"After what, Booth?" she asked, eyes flashing. "What? One more kiss that didn't mean anything?"

"The hell it didn't," he replied. How many times were they going to play this game? "And for your information, you kissed me back."

"So? That was a reflex response."

"Reflex? That's lame, even for you."

"I don't know what you expected." She shrugged. "Did you think you would kiss me and I would just fall at your feet?"

"No. Of course not."

"Then?" she asked, regarding him coolly, lips pressed into a thin line.

He hadn't planned to kiss her. He'd just done it. Now, with her staring at him like that, the right words wouldn't come. "Bones..." Frustrated because he could feel her slipping away, Booth sighed and wiped a hand over his mouth.

Brennan bowed her head for a moment before turning and walking away, the click of her high-heeled shoes echoing off the floor. Frozen, Booth watched her go. When he could no longer see her, he collapsed on her couch, hands balled into fists and stomach tied in knots.

Shoulders slumped, he reached into his pocket and pulled out her lipstick. He rolled it in his hand, staring at it and seeing Brennan's face during those heartbeats before he'd kissed her. He laughed, the sound as hollow as he felt.

Man, had he fucked that up.


	54. What You Thought You Needed

**Title:** What You Thought You Needed (Ficlet #54)  
**Series:** All That Lies Between Us  
**Word Count: **300  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary: **Brennan has a question for Booth.  
**Characters: **Booth, Brennan  
**Timeline: **Set 7 years into Booth and Brennan's partnership.  
**Spoilers: **Nothing explicit.  
**Feedback: **is always appreciated. If criticizing, please be constructive.  
**Disclaimer: **Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely mean to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Acknowledgments: ** Hugs and thanks to everyone who commented on #53. Thanks, too, to the lurkers. :)

* * *

"Why have we never slept together?" The question sounds casual -- like she's asking how he spent his weekend. He knows her too well to be fooled.

A forkful of scrambled eggs is halfway to Booth's mouth. Upon hearing her question, he reverses direction, gently setting it down on his plate.

He's thought about it. So often that it's tough for him to remember a time when he didn't wonder what they'd be like together.

Carefully, he avoids meeting her eyes. Eyes that see too much sometimes and not enough at others. With hands that shake a little, he reaches for his coffee. The clink and clatter of the diner fills the space between them. Hands wrapped securely around the warm cup, Booth lets his gaze flicker to Brennan's face, taking in the tension curling around her mouth and sketching lines between her eyebrows.

He's watched the men stroll in and out of her life; none have stayed more than six months. Doctors, a musician, an architect... He's vetted them all, growled when necessary, and warned her to be careful -- like the older brother he'll never be to her -- no matter how she lies to herself and to him. But watching her back has become more than a habit and more like a compulsion over the years. Laughter builds in his chest as he wonders what Gordon Gordon would have said about that. He forces it back.

He's had girlfriends. They've been pretty, funny, kind. If he found one he _liked_ as much as he likes her, he'd be set.

"Because it would have been about more than biology," he says, resting his hand on the table.

Brennan's mouth opens and closes, but then she nods, eyes soft, and slides her hand forward until their fingertips almost touch.

* * *

**Author Note: **I can't explain it, but I loved writing this. It surprised me and made me smile. Part of me wants to make a longer story out of this, but in the interests of discipline, I'm telling myself I have too much else to finish already. All that said, if you hate this, it's ok to tell me so. Happy Friday, and thank you for reading. :) Oh, and an _Unwell_ update should be up on Tuesday; I've some tweaking to do.

**ETA a question: ** Can anyone tell me what a Catholic church smells like? I know that sounds weird, but I'm totally serious.


	55. Sweet Surrender

**Title:** Sweet Surrender  
**Rating:** PG  
**Characters: ** Booth, Brennan  
**Timeline: **Right now, in a galaxy far, far away.  
**Spoilers: **None  
**Notes: **This is the story of my heart, so please go easy on it with your comments.

And then Seeley Booth fcked Temperance Brennan against the nearest wall with his swollen member -- as he'd wanted to do for three long years during which his loins had burned with the fire of a thousand sons.  
_  
The End_

**Author Note: **This story has been brought to you by the letters T and A. Happy April Fool's Day. ;)


	56. Shadows

**Characters: ** Booth, Brennan  
**Word Count: ** 200  
**Rating:** T for some language and somewhat disturbing themes  
**Warning:** See the rating.  
**Spoilers: **Through 2x18: _The Killer in the Concrete. _  
**Timeline:** This is set during the final scene of 2x18: _The Killer in the Concrete.  
_

* * *

"Why didn't you just -- just tell them about Kennedy?" she asks, and her eyes are even bluer than they'd seemed in his head as scorching metal burned through fabric and skin.

"Well, you know, I needed to give you time to find me." That part was true. "I've been tortured worse." Worse is relative. Worse is lying in your own piss and shit for so long you don't even notice the smell anymore. Worse is when you can no longer tell where the pain ends and you begin.

These are things that will never touch her -- not if he can help it -- and by God, he _can_.

But he hasn't slept since she found him. He's just so fucking tired that he doesn't know if he can hold it inside him and keep it all off his face so she doesn't read it as easily as she read his X-rays.

So he lets his glance slide to the table for a breath.

The rest is easy; she provides the distraction herself, and he nearly laughs in relief. She turns her perfect face away from him and reaches for something at her side.

He prays: _Thank You._

* * *

**Author's Note: **This has been niggling at my consciousness for a while, and I finally decided to just get it down. You may or may not agree with the characterization of Booth in this, but I can tell you with complete honesty that this is how I see him.

Thanks for reading. Thank you, too, to everyone who's commented on my stories. I am finally legitimately getting caught up on review replies. :) Have a great weekend.


	57. Bridging the Divide

**Title: **Bridging the Divide  
**Characters:** Booth, Roberto Ortez  
**Word Count: ** 200  
**Rating:** T  
**Spoilers: **Through 1x13: _The Woman in the Garden. _  
**Timeline:** This is set toward the end of 1x13: _The Woman in the Garden.  
_**Comments: ** are always appreciated. Smiles or frowns work, too. Just be constructive, and we'll get along great.

* * *

_Mara Muerte has put a hit out on your lady scientist._

Booth's given up on perfect answers. She'll be pissed he's late; she'll be alive, too.

He waits, ignoring the unease crawling beneath his skin. He can be patient.

A flash of gray and blue in the side mirror. Ortez. Big, easy steps -- like life is good and no one can touch him. Booth almost smiles, then unfolds himself from the car.

He slams him back against dirty red brick. The little shit is talking: guys like him never know when to shut up.

Booth answers. First with words and then his fist. Next with his gun squeezed into the fleshy hollow just below Ortez's chin.

Baring his teeth, Booth barks out a few more words. What he says doesn't matter; the gun he shoves into the man's mouth does the talking for him. It's a language that bridges all divides.

Turning away, he takes a couple steps before whipping back around and aiming right between Ortez's eyes. The tang of fear hovers between them, and he isn't sure if it's his or Ortez's.

What scares him is how badly he wants to pull the trigger.

_She's my partner, ese._

* * *

**Author's Note: **Only six days till we get a new episode of _Bones_. :)

Thanks for reading. The next chapter of _What Would Happen If We Kissed?_ will go up next Tuesday.


	58. Not My Time

**Title:** Not My Time  
**Characters: ** Booth, Brennan  
**Timeline: ** Set during a scene in _The Man in the Mud_.  
**Spoilers: **For _The Man in the Mud_  
**Word Count: **300  
**Feedback: ** is always appreciated. Thank you.  
**Notes: **If you haven' t seen _The Man in the Mud_, this might seem a bit confusing.

* * *

"It's right here, Bones. It's right in front of us, but I just... I can't get it." Brennan's watching him; even with his eyes fixed on the road, Booth can feel her gaze press against him.

"That whole business with changies and takebacks, that's... not real, right?" she asks.

He hears her uncertainty, and it's instinctive, the need he has to reassure her. What she's asking has nothing to do with motive or murder. That's been happening a lot lately -- especially since Christmas.

Subtext. The words beneath the words, he remembers from English class.

"Would it be fair to say that you use work to avoid confronting personal issues?" Sweets had said.

Next time he's tempted to feel sorry for Sweets because the kid's got girl trouble, he'll remember this moment. He and Brennan discuss personal things, and whatever they don't discuss, there's a damn good reason for avoiding.

Not like he can tell Brennan that watching her stroke her fingers over wet clay has given him enough fantasy material for at least the next month. Without there being even a chance of a goodnight kiss, that wasn't a date: it was torture.

"No." Time to change the subject. Fortunately, they have other things to handle right now. "I have another question," he says, dangling the words in front of her like bait.

The line's become a noose.

She owns a piece of him; does she know that?

But he doesn't know if he's ready, and as well as he can read her, he's not sure she is either. With a twinge of regret, Booth pushes off a conversation he's accepted they'll need to have one day soon -- especially if she keeps sneaking him looks when she thinks he won't notice.

Everything happens eventually. He still wants to believe that.

* * *

**A/N: ** On a totally unrelated note, if you want to have your heart broken, go listen to Damien Rice's _Accidental Babies_. You can find it on YouTube.


	59. Disappointment

**Title:** Disappointment  
**Characters: ** Booth, Brennan**  
Rating:** T for mild language  
**Timeline: ** Set during a scene in _The Player Under Pressure_.  
**Spoilers: **For _The Player Under Pressure_  
**Word Count: **410  
**Feedback: ** is always appreciated. Thank you.  
**Notes: **If you haven' t seen_ The Player Under Pressure_, this might seem a bit confusing, as all the dialog is taken from that ep.

* * *

"Anthropologically speaking, sports are a way for boys to practice their battle skills."

Booth's mouth dropped open, and he flashed a glance at Brennan before saying, "Yeah. Ok. So you just wanna focus straight up, get up on your toes and just..." He took another shot, nodding with satisfaction as the basketball swished through the net.

"The truth is, athletes are basically emotionally arrested in boyhood, acting out childish games as though they have adult importance," she said from behind him, barely pausing to take a breath. He really, really hoped she'd stop there, but he knew his partner, so he steeled himself for whatever she'd say next. "You know, the only thing more juvenile are grown adults who watch sports," she said, finishing her lecture in that know-it-all tone that never failed to jab at his skin.

He caught the ball on the rebound and spun to face Brennan, crowding into her space. "Why you gotta say stuff like that?" he said, no longer able to hide his irritation.

"What? You mean the truth?"

The world looked so black and white to her; sometimes he envied her her perspective.

Other times he hated it.

"All right. You know what? I'm a jock. So when you say those, you know, things that you say, what are you saying about me?" He couldn't put it more plainly than that.

Brennan frowned, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Nothing. You grew out of it."

"No, I didn't, all right. My shoulder crapped out on me," he said, leaning down and setting the ball at her feet. "Otherwise, I would have gone all the way with it."

"What?" she said. Just one word, but he knew from her voice that she didn't get what he was saying. Tough shit: he couldn't always be the one to explain things to her.

"And another thing," he said, grabbing his jacket off the gym floor, "I fought in a war. So if sports is a childish substitute, I can live with that." Though there were other things he wanted to say, the tightness in his shoulders convinced him it was better to walk away. As he shoved the door open, and Brennan huffed a sigh behind him, Booth realized he was more pissed at himself than he was at her.

So what if his partner thought he was just some dumb jock stuck in childhood? Since when did it matter whether she understood him?

* * *

**A/N: ** Hugs and thanks to everyone who commented on #58. :)


	60. Layers

**Title:** Layers  
**Characters: ** Booth, Brennan**  
Rating:** K  
**Timeline: **Alternate ending for _The Baby in the Bough_.  
**Spoilers: **For _The Baby in the Bough_  
**Word Count: **666  
**Feedback: ** is always appreciated and hoarded like gold. Or maybe chocolate. Thank you.  
**Notes: **If you haven' t seen_ The Baby in the Bough_, this might seem a bit confusing, as some of the dialog is taken from that ep. I didn't like the bit with pacifier at the end, so I wrote a brief alternate ending.

* * *

"You know, with next year's book, you should, uh…. You should get that second home in the town you saved. I mean, it only makes sense, right? Because every year, plasmas, they go down. They get cheaper and cheaper. It happens all the time—"

"Forget it," Brennan said, interrupting Booth.

"What? I'm just saying that Andy's gonna miss his Auntie Bones, and he's gonna wanna see you," Booth said, lips bent in a smirk. "We'll all go fishing. Come back home. Plop ourselves in front of that big 103 inch plasma screen of heaven and football. And you can make the five-layer dip!"

"Seven-layer dip," she said, unable to resist correcting him even as the tiny voice inside her that had been getting increasingly loud since Christmas suddenly spoke up about  
what a pleasant picture Booth had painted with his offhand words.

"Even better! Seven layers. Perfect. You can talk to Andy. Hello, Andy, little man…" His words trailed off into a series of unintelligible and infantile sounds that made her roll her eyes.

"You know what I find interesting?" she said, pitching her voice louder than his.

"What?" he said, turning his head to look at her.

"The fact that you take for granted your presence at my hypothetical second home." Sweets would have been proud of her, she thought, with the beginnings of a smile as Booth blinked back at her, clearly flustered. "That is a rather domestic scenario you just posited," she said, enjoying Booth's discomfort. It was a rare occasion indeed when she rendered her partner speechless.

"Well…" He scratched the back of his neck. "I just meant that…"

Brennan raised her eyebrows and waited for his explanation. "Yes?"

"Never mind."

Still smiling, Brennan leaned toward Booth. Because it seemed natural, because sitting there with Booth felt so easy, and there was such an air of inevitability to it, she didn't stop her fingers from curling around his slim black tie and then tugging him forward until she smelled the coffee on his breath and saw the surprised glint in his eye. When he didn't pull away, her eyes fell shut; she released his tie and closed the remaining distance between them until their mouths brushed in the briefest of kisses.

His hands drifted to her shoulders, their pressure warm and steady. Retreating slowly, Brennan opened her eyes to find Booth watching her.

"How long you been thinking about doing that?" he asked, a hint of arrogance in his voice as he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

"Oh, as if you haven't," she replied, flicking his tie with her index finger.

"Since Christmas?" he asked, with a wink.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

His eyes danced with laughter, and she smiled back. "Sure you don't," he said. Letting her go, he hopped down from the back of the SUV. "If you want some more of that, you're gonna have to buy me dinner."

"Who said I wanted more?" she shot back.

"I can tell, Bones. Non-verbal communication. Now come on," he said, and held his hand out to her, "let's go spend what's left of your seven-figure advance."

Ignoring his hand, she stood and stepped away from the car, brushing off her pants. "You're saying you'll actually let me pay for once?"

"Yup," he said, closing the back. "Today I will. One-time offer on account of you missing Andy."

"How can I possibly refuse an offer like that?"

"Simple; you can't."

She watched Booth's smile widen as he fished his car keys from his pocket and then tossed them to her. Laughing, she caught them and quickly rounded the car to scramble into the driver's seat before he could change his mind.

After buckling her seatbelt, she turned her head to glance at Booth. "It looks as though you're on the grandma side today."

"Sure looks that way, Bones." Shrugging, he reached out to smooth his thumb across her cheek. "But don't get used to it."

* * *

**A/N: ** Hugs and thanks to everyone who commented on #59. :)


	61. Cast Some Light

**Title:** Cast Some Light  
**Characters: ** Booth, Brennan**  
Rating:** K  
**Summary: **Pre-ep for The Verdict in the Story.  
**Word Count: **200  
**Feedback: **makes me dance a jig. ;) Thank you.**  
**

* * *

It's late when he stops by. Propped against the doorway of Brennan's office, Booth shoves his hands into his pockets and watches her. Her face rests in her hands – hands that have done so much good in the world – and his stomach cramps with regret because they are on opposite sides this time.

Booth has bent and broken the law for this woman; tomorrow, when Max Keenan's trial begins, Booth's hands will be useless.

But they are still partners.

A sigh escapes, and her slumped shoulders straighten as she sits up. Pride in her strength moves him then, propelling him to the couch, where he brushes aside a mountain of paper and lowers himself beside her.

She doesn't look at him, just jiggles her leg. The unconscious gesture is so unlike her that his hand settles on her knee, stilling her movement, before he can ask himself what he's doing. Two breaths, and her head turns in his direction. Her eyes follow, and in the silence he hears her anxiety and her sadness.

Releasing her knee, he curves his arm around her shoulders. She tenses. "I'm sorry," he says, and feels her relax.

"I know," she replies, leaning into him.

* * *

**A/N: ** Hugs and thanks to everyone who commented on #60. :) I anticipate being able to do some review replies this coming week.


	62. Clean and Detached

**Title:** Clean and Detached

I borrowed the title from a bit of Cam's dialog in _The Verdict in the Story_. She said to the team, "Clean and detached, people -- just the way Dr. Brennan likes it."  
**Spoilers:** For _The Verdict in the Story.  
_**Timeline: ** Set toward the end of _The Verdict in the Story._  
**Word Count: **200  
**Acknowledgments: ** HUGE thanks to all the folks who have ever commented on this series. I know some people are a little (ha ha) suspicious of brevity, but writing these moments is such fun for me.

And Mary, be careful what you ask for. ;)

* * *

**Clean and Detached**

"I didn't ask you your opinion of Dr. Brennan's character. I asked you: did she have time?"

Cam's breath stutters as she waits for Booth's answer.

"Yes. She had time," Booth finally says, implicating his partner as a potential suspect, and as Cam glimpses his face, she knows she's seeing something intensely private.

She wonders if he knows he's laid his heart as bare as the hearts of the people she's examined on her autopsy table.

Her gaze swoops to her jacket sleeve, but it's too late. Before, it was just a suspicion. Now, she knows. Cam feels an ache in her stomach – a pang of something that isn't hunger. A self-deprecating smile twists her mouth when she realizes what it is.

Tonight, at home, she'll sip her wine and finish the book she started last night, her fingertips skimming over paper. Then, on nights when paper turns to skin, the eyes that meet hers will be warm with lust, not the thing gleaming in Booth's eyes as he looks across the courtroom at Dr. Brennan as if they're alone.

With Booth, heat's mellowed into friendship. But is it too much to ask that_ someone_ look at her like that?

* * *

**A/N**: If you're wondering why the point of view character in this is Cam, the answer's simple. First, I wanted to try something a little different. Second, I'm working on something a bit longer in response to _The Verdict in the Story_, and I didn't want to cannibalize it for these ficlets. Still, I did want to write something drabble-y related to _Verdict_. So then I thought a little Cam POV might be interesting.

Anyone out there write using third person omniscient point of view? I tend to favor third person limited. I'm curious how omniscient feels for you, if you've utilized it.


	63. Mirror, Mirror

**Title:** Mirror, Mirror  
**Spoilers:** For _The Pain in the Heart.  
_**Timeline: ** Set after Brennan visits Booth in his bathroom.  
**Word Count: **100  
**Prompt: ** _Viva La Vida_ by Coldplay  
**Feedback** is always appreciated. Thank you.  
**Acknowledgments: **Many thanks to everyone who has commented on this series.

* * *

**Mirror, Mirror**

It isn't until she's back home, alone, staring at her reflection in her own bathroom mirror, that Brennan smiles. Where did Booth find that ridiculous contraption he'd had perched atop his head when she'd stormed the steam-filled bastion of his bathroom?

The smile edges into wild laughter echoing off the walls and clanging in her ears. She braces her arms hard against her stomach.

_Hold it in. Hold it in. _

The futile admonishment ricochets 'round her brain. She gasps. Within the space of one peal of laughter, dubious humor alchemizes into saltwater; she nearly drowns in it.  
_  
Booth is alive. _


	64. No Mercy, No God

**Title:** No Mercy, No God  
**Spoilers:** For _The Pain in the Heart.  
_**Timeline: ** Set during the first scene of _The Pain in the Heart.  
_**Character: **Temperance Brennan  
**Word Count: **200  
**Feedback** is always appreciated. Thank you.  
**Acknowledgments: **Many thanks to everyone who has commented on this series.

* * *

**No Mercy, No God  
**

They stare, eyes heavy with pity and expectation. "It's Agent Booth's funeral, Dr. Brennan. Losing a loved one is—"

"A partner, Sweets. I lost a partner." She won't use his title and address him with respect; not when he presumes to tell her what she has lost.

As if she hasn't spent the last two weeks washing crimson from her hands.

As if she isn't wearing perfume to suffocate the scent of copper that shadows her.

As if she doesn't know she has lost the man who is (was) everything she hadn't known she wanted.

He died for her. She never asked it of him. But that was Booth, forever giving her what she didn't ask for. Except forever ended – as she'd always known it would.

Funerals were for the living. He would have wanted her to go, she thinks, remembering standing over her mother's grave at his insistence.

What he would have wanted is immaterial because his heart no longer beats.

She doesn't want to see him, his body pumped full of chemicals that gave the nightmarish illusion of life. Not when he still stands in her office doorway every time she turns her head.

She won't go.


	65. Understanding

**Title:** Understanding  
**Spoilers:** For _The Pain in the Heart.  
_**Timeline: ** Set about a week after Sweets told Brennan why he'd neglected to tell her Booth was alive.  
**Characters: **Booth, Sweets  
**Word Count: ** 200**  
****Feedback** is always appreciated. Thank you.  
**Notes: ** Lest we forget that Seeley Booth is a dangerous man... ;)**  
**

* * *

**Understanding**

A week had passed; it was time.

He was seated at his desk, head bent over a manila folder, when Booth stepped into his office.

"Agent Booth," Sweets said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his hands. "What brings you here?"

In ten steps, Booth stood over him. An image of Brennan standing in his bathroom, eyes filled with hurt, flashed through Booth's mind; his hands clenched with the urge to haul Sweets to his feet. Since both he and Sweets bore responsibility, he resisted. "You were supposed to tell Brennan I was alive."

"We've already discussed this. I—"

"Shut up and listen to me."

Sweets blinked rapidly and swallowed, his throat working.

"I know what you told her, and I don't care. As far as I'm concerned, you had a job, and you didn't do it. Next time you get the urge to play with my life or Brennan's, think twice." Booth leaned over Sweets and narrowed his eyes, bracing his hands on the armrests of his chair. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Good." He stepped back, straightening his suit jacket. "Sorry for interrupting," Booth said, letting his lips curve in a smile that was all teeth.

* * *

**A/N:** So someone asked why Booth refers to Temperance as Brennan in this. I'm just going to copy and paste a section of my response:

I wrote Booth referring to Temperance as Brennan because he was dead serious, and he was talking about her to Sweets. This wasn't therapy or joking around; Booth was trying to make a very serious point with Sweets. He calls Temperance Bones when he talks to her and often when he's talking about her. However, he does occasionally refer to her as Brennan when he's talking about her with other people.

Witness the diner scene between him, Brennan, and Sweets in _The Verdict in the Story_. When he's explaining to Sweets why he and Brennan have been split up, he says, "Brennan's dad murdered the deputy director of the FBI." So there is precedent for it; I didn't just randomly decide to do it.


	66. Hemorrhage In My Hands

I wrote this for Terraphim86 for a drabble meme at LiveJournal. If you request a character and/or pairing, though I can't promise I'll write them in a relationship, I'll write you a drabble (100-word story). You can also give me a prompt, if you'd like -- a song lyric, a word, whatever. You can reach me via PM, email, or a review.

**Title:** Hemorrhage In My Hands  
**Characters:** Hodgins, Angela  
**Word Count:** 100  
**Spoilers:** Oblique references to _The Pain in the Heart._  
**Timeline: ** Set after _The Pain in the Heart._  
**Prompt:** None. She just requested Hodgins/Angela._  
_**Notes: ** Keeping this to 100 words was tough.

* * *

**Hemorrhage In My Hands**

Jack slides from beneath Angela's arm, escaping his dark bedroom.

In the kitchen he considers taking two beers up to Zack's apartment. Remembering, he pulls onions from the pantry instead.

Papery skin gives way; Jack makes the first cut.

As the Syn-propanethial-S-oxide hits his eyes, tears well.

"What're you doing?"

Her sleep-slurred voice snares his attention, but the blade keeps moving. "Making onion quiche." He barely falters when the knife kisses flesh.

"It's 3:00 in the morning." Warm fingers clasp his wrist. "Jack, stop. You're bleeding."

Jack stares at their hands. "I never taught him to drive."

Angela's fingers tighten.


	67. Heaven or Hell

I wrote this for kinseyjo for a drabble meme at LiveJournal.

If you request a character and/or pairing, though I can't promise I'll write them in a relationship, I'll write you a drabble (100-word story). You can also give me a prompt, if you'd like -- a song lyric, a word, whatever. You can reach me via PM, email, or a review.

**Title:** Heaven or Hell  
**Pairing:** Booth/Brennan in an established romantic relationship.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 100  
**Spoilers:** Oblique reference to 2x16: _The Boneless Bride in the River_  
**Timeline: ** Set in the not-too-distant future_. _ ;)_  
_**Feedback** is treasured. Thank you.  
**Prompt:** "Brennan/Booth, this line: 'Are you ever sorry you picked me over him?'" & "if you make my drabble smutty and funny i'll be ok with that."**  
Notes: **Honey, I did the best I could in 100 words. (wipes forehead)

* * *

**Heaven or Hell**

With temperatures in the mid-90s, D.C. had morphed into hell. Not that Booth minded much.

Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, he watched a boyshorts-clad Brennan run cold water over her hands.

"What do ya say we take a vacation, Bones?"

"I never went to El Brujo—"

"I was thinking the beach." Moving behind her, he slipped his hand underneath her wife-beater. "I've never seen you in a bikini."

"Perhaps a trip to the Caribbean…" Her eyes danced.

"No." Scowling, Booth thumbed her nipple and watched her eyes close.

"Bedroom. Now."

Booth smiled. "That we can agree on."


	68. Endless

I wrote this for makd for a drabble meme at LiveJournal.

If you request a character and/or pairing, though I can't promise I'll write them in a relationship, I'll write you a drabble (100-word story). You can also give me a prompt, if you'd like -- a song lyric, a word, whatever. You can reach me via PM, email, or a review.

**Title: ** Endless  
**Fandom: ** Bones  
**Pairing:** Booth/Brennan  
**Rating:** PG or K  
**Word Count: **100  
**Spoilers: ** Oblique reference to 3x15: _The Pain in the Heart_  
**Timeline: **Set shortly after 3x15: _The Pain in the Heart__  
_**Feedback** is treasured. Thank you.  
**Prompt**: "Cam, a necklace, and B/B"

* * *

**Endless**

Brennan finds Booth seated beside her. She didn't hear him enter, but then she's felt a constant buzz of distraction since—

"I brought you something." Booth extends his palm.

Pewter glints; Brennan's breath stutters. "Why?"

"Angela told me you threw out Jasper and Brainy when you thought I was dead."

"I—"

"It's OK. I understand." He raises an eyebrow. "Take it."

"It's a Celtic knot." Slowly, she reaches for the pendant hanging from black cord.

He shrugs. "I just thought you'd like it."

A knock sounds; Cam stands in the doorway. Her gaze flickers between them. "I'll come back."


	69. Debits & Credits

I wrote this for makd for a drabble meme at LiveJournal.

If you request a character and/or pairing, though I can't promise I'll write them in a relationship, I'll write you a drabble (100-word story). You can also give me a prompt, if you'd like -- a song lyric, a word, whatever. You can reach me via PM, email, or a review.

**Title: **Debits and Credits  
**Fandom: ** Bones  
**Characters:** Brennan, Sully  
**Rating:** PG or K  
**Word Count: **100  
**Spoilers: **Really vague references to _The Boneless Bride in the River and The Pain in the Heart._  
**Timeline: **Set shortly after 3x15: _The Pain in the Heart__  
_**Feedback** is treasured. Thank you.  
**Prompt**: Brennan and Sully re-meet shortly after The Pain in the Heart.

* * *

**Debits and Credits **

Brennan sipped her coffee, eyes closed as she savored the fragrant brew.

"Tempe."

Her eyes snapped open. "Sully." She looked up to see his familiar smile. "When did you get back?"

"Yesterday."

Honoring their history, she slid from the booth. They hugged; when his head tilted, she turned so his lips found her cheek.

Sully pulled back, brown eyes edged with disappointment.

"You look well," she said, observing his bronzed skin.

"You don't. Are you happy, Tempe?"

Thinking of another pair of brown eyes, considering what she'd gained and lost, Brennan struggled for precision. "No. But I'm happy I stayed."

* * *

**A/N: ** Many thanks to those who commented on previous chapters. It always takes me a while to get individual review replies out, but in the meantime I wanted to say something about the last drabble. I understand why some readers were upset by the thought of Brennan throwing away Jasper and Brainy when she thought Booth had died. When I wrote it, it was a story choice I suspected might upset some readers, but I let it stand because I truly believed that it was one possible way in which Brennan might deal with her grief and loss.

I try very hard to be true to my vision of the characters, which, naturally, cannot be exactly the same as anyone else's. The way I see it, different people grieve in different ways, and yes, sometimes they even do things they might later regret.

Thanks for sharing your thoughts with me; it is always, always interesting to get your perspectives.


	70. Hidden Talents

I wrote this for geezbones for a drabble meme at LiveJournal.

If you request a character and/or pairing, though I can't promise I'll write them in a relationship, I'll write you a drabble (100-word story). You can also give me a prompt, if you'd like -- a song lyric, a word, whatever. You can reach me via PM, email, or a review.

**Title: **Hidden Talents  
**Fandom: ** Bones  
**Characters:** Booth, Brennan  
**Rating:** PG or K  
**Word Count: **100  
**Spoilers:** For 2x08: _The Woman in the Sand_  
**Timeline: **Set during 2x08: _The Woman in the Sand__  
_**Feedback** is treasured. Thank you.  
**Prompt**:Geezbones essentially wanted something that touched on the sleeping arrangements in The Woman in the Sand.

* * *

**Hidden Talents**

One room, one bed.

"You take the bed, Bones."

"We're adults. We can share the bed."

"I'm not sleeping with you."

* * *

Booth stares into the darkness, trying to ignore the call of the dice. It's like an itch on his back that he can't reach.

A soft laugh cuts through his thoughts. He turns his head to see her lying on the opposite side of the bed. "Bones?"

Silence.

Later she laughs again; Booth smiles.

She hears his secrets without judgment, plays Roxie like a pro, and laughs in her sleep. What other hidden talents does his gorgeous partner have?


	71. Wake Me Up When September Ends

I wrote this for bertie456 for a drabble meme at LiveJournal.

If you request a character and/or pairing, though I can't promise I'll write them in a relationship, I'll write you a drabble (100-word story). You can also give me a prompt, if you'd like -- a song lyric, a word, whatever. You can reach me via PM, email, or a review.

**Title: **Wake Me Up When September Ends  
**Fandom: ** Bones  
**Characters:** Camille Saroyan  
**Rating:** PG or K  
**Word Count: **100  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Timeline: **Set this coming September._  
_**Feedback** is treasured and snuggled. Thank you -- always!  
**Prompt**: A Bones drabble involving Cam in some way.  
**Notes: **I suspect this drabble _might_ seem confusing. Please don't hesitate to ask for clarification if you need it. Oh, and I've used my imagination for some backstory.

* * *

**Wake Me Up When September Ends**

The seventh anniversary falls on a Thursday.

She takes a vacation day and rides the Acela up, getting off at Penn Station.

The hours melt as her feet skim the avenues and cross streets that pump blood out from the heart of the city.

Treasure accumulates – almond-scented bubble tea from Chinatown and a Magnolia Bakery cupcake with buttercream frosting that dissolves on her tongue.

Despite the sweetness in her mouth, she remembers:

Lampposts wearing missing persons flyers.

Sidewalk memorials.

Votives mourning by twilight.

The acrid scents of death and destruction that hovered long past September.

Cam remembers her best friend.


	72. Peace Offering

I wrote this for tidbit2008 for a drabble meme at LiveJournal.

If you request a character and/or pairing, though I can't promise I'll write them in a relationship, I'll write you a drabble (100-word story). You can also give me a prompt, if you'd like -- a song lyric, a word, whatever. You can reach me via PM, email, or a review.

**Title: **Peace Offering  
**Fandom: ** Bones  
**Characters:** Brennan, Booth  
**Rating:** PG or K  
**Word Count: **100  
**Spoilers:** For _The Pain in the Heart_.  
**Timeline: **Set after _The Pain in the Heart_. _  
_**Feedback** is treasured and snuggled. Thank you -- always!  
**Prompt**: Brennan. Some days, it is possible to see over the top of her walls.  
**Notes: **Many thanks to those who read and commented on the previous drabble; it's particularly special to me because I lived in NY from 1999 - 2004. I will always love NY, and Sept. 11, 2001 and its aftermath are forever etched in my memory. I remember walking to work in Midtown that morning and seeing the clouds of smoke rise into the air downtown. I remember the shock that rippled through the office as the news reports surfaced. I remember the streets teeming with frightened people as companies throughout the city sent their employees home. I remember the smell that haunted the city for many months afterward.

My husband was scheduled to go to the WTC later that day; it's pure chance that he wasn't there during the attacks. Several of his friends/coworkers were not that fortunate.

Anyway, since we know Cam worked in NY before, I thought it was both plausible and likely that she'd been there in 2001.

* * *

**Peace Offering**

"I'm sorry," Booth said, fingers tweaking a fry, and Brennan glanced up to catch the deepening lines in his forehead.

Part of her wanted to ask, "About what?" but a more voluble part insisted the two words he'd uttered were all she'd waited to hear after learning he was alive.

Sometimes one could choose to be gracious. So instead of asking a false question for the sake of her pride, she said, "I know."

"Oh." A thoughtful nod, then, "Want a bite of my pie?"

Cocking her head, she eyed the plate he'd pushed toward her. "All right."

Booth smiled.


	73. Seeing Red

I wrote this for amilyn for a drabble meme at LiveJournal.

If you request a character and/or pairing, though I can't promise I'll write them in a relationship, I'll write you a drabble (100-word story). You can also give me a prompt, if you'd like -- a song lyric, a word, whatever. You can reach me via PM, email, or a review.

**Title: **Seeing Red (Since Joss Whedon's birthday was yesterday. ;) )  
**Fandom: ** Bones  
**Characters:** Brennan  
**Rating:** PG or K  
**Word Count: **100  
**Timeline: **Set between _The Wannabe in the Weeds _and_ The Pain in the Heart_. _  
_**Feedback** is treasured and snuggled. Thank you -- always!  
**Prompt**: Brennan and fear.**  
**

* * *

**Seeing Red  
**

Brennan sees red.

Carmine, scarlet, crimson, and ruby pour from spider-cracked windows, splatter across rows of Angela's pristine stretched canvases, paint the strong mouth that traversed the territory of hers only once -- because of a prodigal father's holiday wish and an eccentric woman's whimsy -- but arrested her breath so many times she ceased keeping count ten thousand inhalations ago.

Dawn's light marches her to wakefulness -- and the crushing knowledge that her stomach (her gut, he would have said) -- telegraphs eons before her conscious mind catches up.

Seconds, minutes, twenty lifetimes later, she kneels and retches into the toilet's mandalic waters.


	74. Thriving

I wrote this for boneskittie for a drabble meme at LiveJournal.

If you request a character and/or pairing, though I can't promise I'll write them in a relationship, I'll write you a drabble (100-word story). You can also give me a prompt, if you'd like -- a song lyric, a word, whatever. You can reach me via PM, email, or a review.

**Title: **Thriving  
**Fandom: ** Bones  
**Characters:** Brennan, Booth  
**Rating:** PG or K  
**Word Count: **200  
**Timeline: **Set sometime this summer.  
**Spoilers** for 3x09: The Baby in the Bough._  
_**Feedback** is treasured, snuggled, and appreciated more than you know. Thank you -- always!  
**Prompt**: A situation where Booth needs to call Brennan, Temperance. **  
****Notes: **I cheated and made this a double drabble because I really didn't want to shorten it.

* * *

**Thriving**

"What's taking you so long? We were supposed to meet fifteen minutes ago."

Booth's peevish words startle Brennan; she drops the object she was perusing. As Booth steps inside, she hastily grabs it off the floor and shoves it behind her. "We settled on 12:30."

"Yeah"—he raises his eyebrows and his wrist—"and it's 12:45."

"Oh."

"Bones?"

"Yes?"

"Show me what you're hiding."

She sniffs. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Temperance," he intones, and his use of her first name makes her roll her eyes. "Show me."

His insistence stiffens her spine, but she realizes she's behaving irrationally. Sighing, she reaches behind her. Without meeting his gaze, she holds her hand out to Booth.

The couch shifts as he sits. He strokes a thumb over the photograph – as if he's touching the child in the image.

"The Grants sent it. They said they wanted me to know Andy was all right—"

He cuts through her babbling with the warm, steady gaze he turns on her so frequently. "He looks good. Happy."

She nods. "He appears to be thriving."

"Maybe we should visit him." Their fingers brush as Booth gives her the photograph.

She returns his smile. "Maybe."

* * *

**A/N: ** I'm way behind on responding to reviews; I should be completely caught up by oh, sometime in 2010. Until then, thanks to everyone who's commented on my stories.

Also, for anyone who's reading _What Would Happen If We Kissed?_, I anticipate having a chapter up toward the end of next week. Writing's taken a backseat to other things while I dealt with early pregnancy. (OK, so it's still really, really early. But I'm ready to return to WWHIWK.)


	75. She is the Sunlight

I wrote this for BlunderousBlueBrigade for a drabble meme at LiveJournal.

If you request a character and/or pairing, though I can't promise I'll write them in a relationship, I'll write you a drabble (100-word story). You can also give me a prompt, if you'd like -- a song lyric, a word, whatever. You can reach me via PM, email, or a review.

**Title: **She is the Sunlight**  
Fandom: ** Bones  
**Characters:** Booth, Angela  
**Rating:** PG or K  
**Word Count: **100  
**Timeline: **Set in the future. _  
_**Spoilers:** None._  
_**Feedback** is treasured and snuggled. Thank you -- always!  
**Prompt**: "Could you do a little Angela and Booth thing..like discussing Brennan or something...?"**  
**

* * *

**She is the Sunlight****  
**

"Congratulations, Angela." Booth brushed a kiss across her cheek.

"Thank you." She beamed a dazzling smile at him; his friend made a gorgeous bride.

A familiar laugh captured his attention. Booth turned to see Brennan talking to Hodgins.

When he looked back at Angela, her eyes danced. "Beautiful, isn't she?"

"Hmm," he answered noncommittally. _She's breathtaking._

"She's in love with you, you know."

"What? We're just friends."

"Look, I've told her, now I'm telling you, Booth: life's short; be happy."

"Newlyweds just want to pair off everyone."

"That's not it." She sighed. "Just promise you'll think about it, OK?"

"OK."


	76. Recognition

**Title: **Recognition**  
Fandom: ** Bones  
**Characters:** Max, Booth  
**Rating:** PG or K  
**Word Count: **100  
**Timeline: **Set at the very end of _The Verdict in the Story_._  
_**Spoilers:** For _The Verdict in the Story.  
_**Feedback** is appreciated more than you know. Thank you -- always!**  
**

* * *

**Recognition**

Max presses a kiss to his daughter's forehead and murmurs, "Thank you, honey."

She doesn't reply, just smiles her mother's smile as he releases her.

Max looks for Booth, catching sight of his back. Feeling free for the first time in many years, Max hurries down the courthouse steps. "Booth," he calls.

The other man turns, hands in his pockets. "Yeah?"

Standing on the step above him, Max extends his hand. "Thanks."

Booth returns his gaze, eyes narrowed against the sunlight. "I didn't do it for you."

A slow smile stretches Max's mouth. "I know."

"Good." Booth shakes his hand.


	77. Beyond Friendship

**Title: **Beyond Friendship_  
_**Characters:** Angela, Brennan, Talia  
**Rating:** PG or K  
**Word Count: **200**  
Timeline: **Future_  
_**Spoilers:** None_  
_**Feedback** is appreciated more than you know. Thank you -- always!  
**Notes: **This was totally inspired by TemperTemper's _Nine Months, Fourteen Hours_, which is part of _One Kind of Family_. (Sweetie, I hope you don't mind.) Go read it. :)

* * *

**Beyond Friendship****  
**

"Sweetie, I have a favor to ask you," Angela said, slanting her a quick glance before settling on the park bench and turning the stroller to face her.

Brennan nodded, intrigued. "Go on."

"I want you to become Talia's legal guardian if anything happens to me and Jack."

Inhaling sharply, Brennan met her best friend's gaze. "Angela—"

"I know it's asking a lot."

"That's not it." She knew how much she owed Angela. "I'm not sure I'd make a good parent. I've never wanted children."

Angela laid her hand on Brennan's arm. "I'd trust you with my child's life. I saw you with Andy. You're responsible and caring, and you'd do the best you could. That's all we can ask." Sighing, she squeezed Brennan's arm before releasing it. "I know what foster care was like for you. We don't want that for Talia. If she can't have us, we want her to have you."

Her parents' disappearance and her subsequent time in the system had affected her in ways she still struggled to articulate. Brennan blinked back the sudden moisture in her eyes as she glimpsed the sleeping child. "All right. I'll do it."

"Thank you," Angela said, hugging her.  
**  
A/N: **So for anyone who's reading these, I have a question: if it were up to you, which, if any of the ficlets in this series, would you be interested in seeing expanded? (Feel free to mention more than one.) I know everyone's busy, so I'm not asking you to reread everything (unless you want to!).

I can't promise anything, but I'm curious to hear what you think. Thanks, as always, for sharing your thoughts.

Also, for any fellow writers, I have a fic challenge for you. Since you can't post links in stories, just click on my profile and follow the link titled "Booth/Brennan fic challenge" if you think you might be interested. :)


	78. Complications

I wrote this for Sillysun for a drabble meme at LiveJournal.

If you request a character and/or pairing, though I can't promise I'll write them in a relationship, I'll write you a drabble (100-word story). You can also give me a prompt, if you'd like -- a song lyric, a word, whatever. You can reach me via PM, email, or a review.

**Title: **Complications  
**Characters:** Brennan, Angela  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count: **100  
**Timeline: **Set between _The Wannabe in the Weeds_ and _The Pain in the Heart_. _  
_**Spoilers:** For _The Wannabe in the Weeds_. _  
_******Prompt**: Brennan and Angela, after they've been told of Booth's death.

* * *

******Complications**  


**  
**"I'm sorry," said the doctor. The two words tightened the vice in Brennan's stomach. "Agent Booth died on the operating table."

Angela gasped and covered her mouth, her other hand reaching for Brennan's as Hodgins stepped in behind her.

"What? No." Brennan shook her head, hair whipping around her face. "He was stable."

"There were surgical complications."

"I want to see him." The words came out in a whisper. "Now," she said, her voice a bit stronger.

"Unfortunately, only family is allowed inside."

_Family. _ Parker. She coughed, gagging. How could she face him, knowing he was fatherless because of her?

**Feedback** is treasured and snuggled. Thank you -- always!  
**  
A/N:** Many thanks to the folks who let me know which ficlets they'd like to see expanded. I truly appreciate your taking the time to do that. I asked, and you answered. Thank you, my friends! There's no time limit, so if anyone else would like to share their thoughts with me, please feel free to do so.


	79. Bubbly

**Title: ** Bubbly**  
Characters: **Brennan, Booth**  
Rating: **PG-13**  
Word Count: **200**  
Timeline: **Set early in Season 4.**  
Spoilers: **For Season 4.  
**Feedback** is always, always treasured. Thank you. :)**  
**

* * *

******Bubbly**  


**  
**"So you're seeing two guys, huh?"

"Yes," she says, setting down her water glass. "One for intellectual stimulation and one for"—she pauses, a feeling of guardedness sneaking over her as Booth's eyebrows shoot up—"physical stimulation."

"Hm. Brains and heart," he replies, nodding. "You know, Bones, sometimes you can find both in one person."

"I am aware of that." She spears a lettuce leaf. "But since I haven't yet found someone who fills both needs, I won't put my life on hold until I do."

"Maybe you're looking in the wrong places." Booth's eyes glitter in the early autumn sunshine warming the diner, and his lips tilt in an enigmatic smile that tells her she is missing some important nuance.

An effervescent sensation rises in her stomach; she narrows her eyes against it and stares at her partner, frowning.

"There something you want to say?" Leaning back, he slides an arm over the top of the booth, watching her.

She wonders suddenly what he sees in her face. "If I wanted to say something, I would say it." The tartness of the words surprises her, but Booth's smile merely widens.

"Let's split one of those giant chocolate chip cookies."

**A/N: **Only a couple hours till _The Dark Knight_! :D


	80. Fine

* * *

**Title: **Fine**  
Characters: **Brennan, Booth**  
Rating: **PG**  
Word Count: **200**  
Timeline: **Set in the future.**  
Spoilers: **None.  
**Feedback** is always, always treasured. Many, many thanks to all those who take the time to comment. :)

* * *

**Fine  
**  
Booth gets the call from Russ one Sunday morning as he's sipping his first mug of coffee and reading the funny pages in the paper. They were on a fishing trip in Pennsylvania; Max died in his sleep. Can Booth please go check on Tempe?

He finds her at the lab, sitting on her couch and staring at a bone she keeps turning over in her hands. She doesn't look up when he sits beside her.

"Everyone dies. The human body isn't designed to last forever."

He doesn't answer – just sets a coffee cup on the table in front of her and watches the steam curl, then vanish, as if it had never existed.

"I'm fine, Booth."

He takes away the bone, moving it to the far side of the table. Brennan's empty hands flex and clench. Shifting closer, Booth takes her hand and places it on his forearm.

"Go." Her fingers tighten on his arm. "I told you, I'm fine."

"Sure. And I'm Santa Claus."

Brennan snorts a laugh. When he pulls her into his arms, she doesn't protest, just laughs and laughs, shaking against him as the laughter gradually dissolves into something like the sound of breaking glass.


	81. Amour Courtois

* * *

**Title: ** _Amour Courtois_**  
Characters: **Brennan, Booth**  
Rating: **PG**  
Word Count: **200**  
Timeline: **Set in Season 4.**  
****Spoilers: **For 4x03: The Man in the Outhouse.  
**Notes: ** This is a bit stream-of-consciousness.  
**Feedback** is sweeter than chocolate. Thank you to all those sweet souls who comment.

Watch Bones tonight!

* * *

_**Amour Courtois**_

He thinks about it sometimes, that kiss he does a slow-motion replay of in his head.

They're partners. Professionals. Solving crimes is what they do. She and the squints do their squinty bone thing, and he does his FBI thing. Should be clean and simple, right?

But there's another layer to their partnership now, a layer he never wanted.

"Bones, we've got a case," he says. _We kissed; what was that about, anyway?_

"I didn't ask you your opinion of Dr. Brennan's character. I asked you, did she have time?" They want to know if she had time to commit murder, but Brennan's eyes ask a different question: "What are you willing to do for me?"

The answer's the same as it's always been. _Anything you need me to do. _"Yes. She had time."

He hates them both a little – himself for being so whipped, her for wielding the whip with a smile. Minutes later the hatred fades away in the shadow of her sad gaze, and he reaches for her.

Now she's dating again. Two jerks. Problem is they're only jerks because they're not him.

It's not her fault. He drew the line; now he's strangling himself with it.

* * *

Excerpted from Wikipedia:

The term _amour courtois_ ("courtly love") was given its original definition by Gaston Paris in his 1883 article "Études sur les romans de la Table Ronde: Lancelot du Lac, II: _Le conte de la charrette_", a treatise inspecting Chretien de Troyes's _Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart_ (1177)._citation needed_ Paris said _amour courtois_ was an idolization and ennobling discipline. The lover (idolizer) accepts the independence of his mistress and tries to make himself worthy of her by acting bravely and honorably (nobly) and by doing whatever deeds she might desire. Sexual satisfaction, Paris said, may not have been a goal or even end result, but the love was not entirely Platonic either, as it was based on sexual attraction (see section on sexuality below for further views).


	82. The Real Thing

**Title: **The Real Thing**  
Characters: **Brennan, Booth**  
Rating: **PG**  
Word Count: **200**  
Timeline: **Post-ep for 4x03: The Man in the Outhouse.**  
Spoilers: **For 4x03: The Man in the Outhouse.  
**Notes: **This isn't a song fic, but it's inspired by _Winter_, a song by Joshua Radin.

* * *

**The Real Thing**

After a dinner of bean curd with vegetables (Brennan's choice) and chicken with broccoli, Booth drives Brennan home.

A curl of dark hair kisses her cheek as she turns her head to look at him, one hand on the door handle. "Thank you, Booth."

"Forget it." He waves away her thanks.

The ghost of a smile caresses her lips, and suddenly he wants very much to kiss her. "I won't," she says, stepping out of the truck.

"Don't worry; there's someone out there for you."

"How can you be so sure?" she says through the window.

"Some things you just know." He shrugs. "Anyway, a woman like you won't be alone long," he adds.

For a moment, she looks like she's going to speak, but then she just shakes her head. "Good night."

"Night, Bones."

The door closes, and Booth watches his partner walk away from him, her silky black dress floating around her legs as her heels click along the sidewalk. He waits till the light near her window winks on before he leaves.

Sweets is wrong; there's nothing surrogate about their relationship.

Besides, everything happens eventually – all the good stuff. You just have to be ready for it.

* * *

**Feedback** is so very precious. When I say that I'm thankful for every comment you leave, I mean it. Thanks for remembering there's a human being on the other side of every story.


	83. If Wishes Were Horses

**Title: **If Wishes Were Horses**  
Characters: **Brennan, Booth**  
Rating: **PG**  
Word Count: **200**  
Timeline: **Post-ep for 4x04: The Finger in the Nest.**  
Spoilers: **For 4x04: The Finger in the Nest.

* * *

**If Wishes Were Horses****  
**

She surprises him.

After years of coffee, cases, and corpses, Brennan still makes him sit up and blink.

She pokes and prods all his sensitive spots. Hell, she even compares him to a dog. But beneath her squint-speak beats a woman's heart. Booth tries to never forget that.

He doesn't have to try very hard. Not when her eyes shine with happiness because of a dog he knows she'll never get to take home.

She's one of the good guys; she deserves to have Ripley warming her lap while she reads her anthropology journals. But what people deserve and what they get aren't always the same, he knows. So does she.

So he breaks the news and her heart, and this time there is no compartmentalizing – just him and her standing beside yet another grave, while she eulogizes a dog. Except she isn't just talking about the dog, is she? Booth doesn't need Sweets to tell him that.

They don't talk much about Zack, but Booth sees his loss in her eyes and hears it in the words she speaks about poor Ripley and his master.

The world isn't fair. Booth wishes it was – for Parker's sake and for Brennan's.

* * *

**Thanks for reading and commenting. :)**


	84. Until You Learn to See

* * *

**Title: **Until You Learn to See**  
Characters: **Brennan, Max**  
Rating: **PG**  
Timeline: **Set after The Verdict in the Story, after Max has actually been freed.**  
Word Count:** 300  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.**  
**

* * *

**Until You Learn to See **

Russ finally left twenty minutes ago, pressing a kiss to her cheek before heading out into the night. Now, Brennan stands in her kitchen with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows as water sluices over her hands and the dinner plate she just sponged clean.

Several glasses of Chianti have left her feeling warm and nearly… content. Yes, that's the most accurate descriptor for her current emotional state.

Smiling slightly, she hands the plate to the man next to her -- her father. Washing dishes together is something they haven't done in years; the domesticity of it causes her smile to falter.

Max towels off the plate and sets it on the counter before turning his head to look at her. "Your mother used to do that."

"What?"

His hand lifts and hovers by her cheek. "Turn pink when she drank."

"Oh." She glances down at the sink. "Alcohol causes vasodilation."

His hand drops, but his smile widens. "She'd be so proud of you."

"Would she?" The stark note of vulnerability in her voice makes her cringe, but she holds her father's gaze.

"Absolutely. The knowledge you have, the work you do -- it would mean something to her."

"Angela thinks I chose this profession because of your disappearance." The words salt the air between them, and for a second she pictures Booth raising an eyebrow the way he does whenever she makes what he considers a verbal faux pas.

She senses his sudden stillness. Then he clasps her shoulders and turns her to face him. "If that's true"--his fingers tighten infinitesimally--"I'm glad something good came out of our mistakes."

Releasing her, he steps back and turns off the faucet. "Now what do you say to sharing another bottle with your old man?"

Unable to speak, she simply nods.

* * *

**A/N: **This one kind of came out of nowhere, if that makes any sense. If you've got a second, please let me know what you thought. Thank you to all those who read, and especially to those who comment.


	85. The Places That I've Been

* * *

**Title: **The Places That I've Been**  
Characters: **Booth, Brennan**  
Rating: **PG**  
Timeline: **Set after _The He in the She_.**  
Prompt**: Linger  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.**  
**

* * *

**The Places That I've Been****  
**

"We know what we don't know."  
- Seeley Booth, _The He in the She_

Booth's stomach growls as they drive back to D.C. It's past dinnertime, but he doesn't mind because warm contentment lingers in his chest from the service they just attended. Sometimes, he silently reminds himself, good things come from the work he and Brennan do.

Ryan Stephenson rediscovered his father and continued his (or is it her?) work.

"Do you believe your god has absolved you of your past?" Brennan's voice slips through his thoughts. The traffic lights cast an eerie red glow over her as he turns his head to study her. A sharp comeback springs to his lips; he swallows it.

He searches her face for signs of mockery and finds none – just curiosity. Not so different from the expression Parker wears as he tries to make sense of a world Booth doesn't know if _he'll _ever understand.

_She keeps everyone honest, this one._

He considers the list of the souls he's sent to meet their maker. "The Bible says if we confess our sins, God will forgive us." He clears his throat. "And if you're gonna ask me if I've confessed and repented, yeah, I have. No, I don't know if He'll forgive me, Bones. But I have to try to believe He will. I have to get up every morning and try to live a decent life."

There's a desperate edge to his voice, and he wishes he sounded more confident. He sneaks a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, waits for her next question. When she reaches across the space that separates them and fingers the chain hidden under the collar of his t-shirt, he wills himself not to shiver.

"Superstitious or not," she says, quietly, "you're a good man."

Booth exhales. _Thank you. _

"I hope you find you what you're seeking."

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for reading.

Too bad about the hiatus! :(


	86. Some Days You Wake Up In the Army

* * *

**Title: **Some Days You Wake Up In the Army**  
Character: **Booth**  
Rating: **PG**  
Timeline: **Set at some undetermined point in the show. Spoilery through 1x21: The Soldier On the Grave.  
**Word Count: **100 (drabble)**  
A/N: **If you're looking for happy, I'd suggest you skip this one. Witchofthedogs left me this prompt several months ago: _"In sunshine and in rain, I will stand on the hill and rejoice." _  
**Summary**: For Booth, some days are better than others.  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.**  
**

* * *

**Some Days You Wake Up In the Army****  
**

Sometimes Booth still wakes spitting sand, a hollow ache in his stomach and a phantom stiffness in his limbs.

Sometimes Parker's nightmare-induced cries merge with those of another boy, one who spent his seventh birthday covered in his dying father's blood.

Sometimes the old cadences echo in his ears, and he asks himself where, exactly, Rangers lead the way to.

Sometimes he has to spend ten minutes staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror before he can force his frozen lips into a smile that has a chance of fooling the world.

Sometimes he wonders if he's fooling anyone.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading.


	87. Learning

* * *

**Title: **Learning**  
Characters: **Brennan, Angela**  
Rating: **PG**  
Timeline/Spoilers: **Set sometime after Yanks in the U.K.  
**Word Count: **200  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Thanks** and hugs to all who've commented on previous chapters. :)

* * *

**Learning**

"How do you do it?" Angela asks, setting her bowl of wonton soup on the coffee table.

Brennan watches the ribbon of steam drift toward the ceiling before turning to look at Angela. "Do what?" Her best friend speaks in riddles sometimes, and Brennan doesn't always know to respond.

"Shut off your feelings." She waves her arms in a vague, sweeping gesture. "Will you teach me to pretend? Sometimes I can do it, and other times, I just…I look at Jack and…" Angela trails off, shaking her head wordlessly. Her hands drop to her knees, and her shoulders slump as she glances back at Brennan.

Her brain whirls with possibilities; she wants to _fix_ this for Angela. But in the midst of the maelstrom there's a stillness, a quiet voice that sounds like an odd mixture of Booth and Angela. This voice tells her to reach out, not to fix, but to comfort if she can – and despite knowing the voice doesn't really exist, she heeds it.

"I miss him, Bren," Angela says, eyes luminous and dark.

"I know." Swallowing her doubts, Brennan wraps her arms around Angela.

Because she's learned that sometimes this is all a friend can do.

* * *

**A/N: ** I know that many folks think Brennan's reaction to Angela's comments about it being awkward with Hodgins after their breakup was perfectly in-character. (I'm talking about the scene in The Crank in the Shaft -- the one where Brennan offers to fire Hodgins for Angela's benefit.) My perspective is slightly different, though. My feeling is that it would have been just as in-character for Brennan to demonstrate empathy in a slightly more traditional fashion; she did it in The Skull in the Desert, and I don't believe that she's _more _emotionally/socially awkward now than she was then -- especially when it comes to Angela, not Booth. Anyway, just my worthless .02. ;)


	88. Feet of Clay

* * *

**Title: **Feet of Clay**  
Character: **Booth, Brennan**  
Rating: **PG**  
Timeline/Spoilers: **Set during The Pain in the Heart.  
**Word Count: **100  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Thanks** and hugs to all who've commented on previous chapters. :)

* * *

**Feet of Clay  
**

Booth doesn't fear her anger. He's used to it; the narrowing of those quicksilver eyes and the unyielding line of those lips only make her more beautiful to him. But he's been hiding from this day, when she'd look at him with raw disappointment, as if a faith she claims she's never had has been burnt to cold ashes. By his careless hands.

He took a bullet for her. Doesn't that mean something? Maybe it's better this way, though. Maybe it's best she knows now that he is no better than her father or anyone else who has hurt her.


	89. Home Delivery

* * *

**Title: **Home Delivery**  
Character: **Brennan, Booth**  
Rating: **PG**  
Spoilers: **If you watch the show, you can read this.  
**Word Count: **200  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Thanks** and hugs to all who've commented on previous chapters. :) If you're a veteran, you have my eternal gratitude and respect. Thank you for your service, and Happy Veterans Day.

* * *

**Home Delivery****  
**

He answers the door wearing jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Brennan tries to envision a younger Seeley Booth – a soldier; the image doesn't materialize.

"This is for you," she says, and thrusts the package at him. The words are abrupt, unceremonious, dropping between them with a thud.

His eyes widen. Even as she turns to go, his free hand shoots out to stop her. "Hey, wait a sec." Foil crinkles as he retracts it. She searches his face, warmed by his crooked smile. "It's a pie."

"Apple, to be exact," she says.

"You made this?"

"Yes."

"Thanks, Bones."

"You can't say that."

"Huh?"

"Thank you is what _I'm_ supposed to say," she explains.

"You're talking past me, Bones."

She sighs. "It's Veterans Day."

"I know."

"So this pie is my way of conveying my thanks to you, a living veteran."

Booth's eyes soften. "What? No lecture on the anthropology of war?"

"Not today." She smiles.

"I know you say you hate pie, but you've gotta make an exception today. Come in, will ya?" He scratches his neck, looking away. "Unless you've got other plans…"

"I don't."

"Good." He tugs her inside. "'Cause I just made a fresh pot of coffee."


	90. The First Cut Is the Deepest

* * *

**Title: **The First Cut Is the Deepest**  
Characters: **Brennan, Jared Booth, Seeley Booth**  
Rating:** PG**  
Spoilers: **For The Con Man in the Meth Lab.  
**Timeline: ** This takes place during a certain scene between Brennan and Jared.  
**Word Count: **200**  
Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**A/N: **There's something a bit longer swirling around in my head, but until that does (or doesn't!) solidify, I wanted to scratch this out.

As always, huge thanks to all the generous folks who've commented before. :)

* * *

**The First Cut Is the Deepest****  
**  
"People are telling me that somehow all the credit went to the state police because of you. Is that possible?" she asks Jared.

He sighs and looks away, and she knows.  
_  
(So basically I'm a loser. Do you think I'm a loser?) _

Booth's eyes catch the light in her mind, glass splintering under the force of her accusations.

Brennan's stomach burns as she forces back the bile flooding her throat. A solid presence looms between her and her partner now; if she had put out her hands, she knows she would have felt its jagged surface beneath her fingertips. She placed it there; she doesn't know how to remove it. The compulsion to fix this, to reassemble what she broke, is strong, stronger even than when she is faced with the bone confetti that is sometimes all that remains of the people who cross her path.

"You took advantage of him. You know, you made me think he's a loser. And what really makes me angry is that I believed you. I wouldn't blame Booth if he never spoke to me again.... You're the loser."

That is the biggest lie. _She_ is the loser.

She shoves Jared off his barstool.


	91. Gods and Monsters

* * *

**Title: **Gods and Monsters**  
Characters: **Seeley Booth**  
Rating:** PG**  
Spoilers: **For The Con Man in the Meth Lab.  
**Word Count: **200**  
Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Gods and Monsters**

He's never hit Parker. He never will. It's one of those things he promised himself and God almost as soon as Rebecca looked at him with trembling lips that formed the words that changed his life again: "I'm pregnant."

Sure, there are promises he's broken, and he'll spend the rest of his life on his knees if that's what it takes. But his son won't ever watch him fall into a longneck and drown; won't learn at his hand that sometimes the scariest monsters don't lurk in the shadows or under the bed and aren't monsters at all – just flawed people who saw too much and never really made it back to themselves.

Booth's fingers bite into the plastic circle in his pocket. His eyes flicker closed and then open again. He inhales, remembering that familiar sour smell as it rolled off Jared and hit him right between the eyes.

Maybe it's all the same: plastic and glass, fathers and sons.

Then again, maybe it's the monsters that patiently sit inside you, waiting for the moment when you can't outrun them, that you have to watch out for.

It's a lesson he desperately hopes his son never has to learn.

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks for reading.


	92. Parallel

* * *

**Title: **Parallel**  
Characters: **Booth, Brennan**  
Rating:** T**  
Spoilers: **Through The Soldier on the Grave.  
**Word Count: **602**  
Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Thanks** for reading, and if you leave feedback, thanks for that as well.

* * *

**Parallel****  
**

His hands shake, the newspaper clutched between his damp fingers fluttering too. Suddenly it's too hot, and the air in his parents' house bears down on him. The chair he's sitting on scrapes along the kitchen floor as he shoves it back and stands, ignoring the worried look his mother shoots him as he does so.

"Seeley! At least put your jacket on," she says, her words following him as he steps out onto the porch, making sure to close the front door quietly instead of letting it slam shut like Jared would.

The late November chill sneaks through his long-sleeved tee and dances along his body. He doesn't mind. Cold in his lungs with every breath; cold against his skin. It feels...not good exactly, but like a tiny bit of relief.

He'll take what he can get.

Even without the newspaper, he easily pictures the tiny round face and gold curls. Moshe Holtzberg just turned two this week. Already, this small orphan knows more about loss than anyone should ever know. The story of his nanny hearing his cries and finding him lying next to his murdered parents in a Jewish center in Mumbai, steeped in their blood, conjures other images -- of another boy, several years older, celebrating his birthday wearing his father's blood.

Then up rises Parker's face, until the three images blur and merge into one another.

Until all he can see is little boys covered in blood.

He grits his teeth and grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes. Fuck. It's been _years_, but he desperately wants a cigarette.

Instead, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his cell.

She answers on the second ring. "Brennan." One word, that's all, but it's matter-of-fact and brusque and so filled with everything that makes her her, that he finds himself closing his eyes.

"Is that any way to greet your partner?" he says, trying to chide her. His voice sounds funny. He hears it and hopes she doesn't.

"Booth. Where are you?" she says, some of the impatience bleeding out of her tone.

"Still in Philly."

"Oh." She breathes in and out in a silence that hovers between them for a few seconds too long. "Booth, is everything OK?" she finally asks.

They aren't sitting side by side, and her hand isn't resting on his arm, but he'll take what he can get. "Yeah." He shrugs, as if she can see him. "Yeah, of course," he says, his voice stronger this time. He clears his throat. "I just, you know, wanted to see how your Thanksgiving was."

"While I don't believe the genocide of the Native Americans is a reason to celebrate, my father was very insistent. Russ, Amy, and the girls came, too. We ate too much and laughed a lot." She pauses. "I admit I enjoyed myself."

"Good. That's what you're supposed to do."

"What happened in India, though -- it's rather unfortunate."

"Yeah, it is. Listen, I've gotta go now, but I'm back in town tomorrow, and I thought maybe we could grab breakfast on Sunday."

"Well, I had planned to go into the lab..."

"You can do that after we eat, Bones. So what do you say?"

"All right."

"Great. See you Sunday."

"Goodbye, Booth."

"Bye, Bones."

After they hang up, he stares down at his phone. Military snipers and terrorists aren't the same, he knows. Or at least that's what he tries to tell himself. But what Moshe Holtzberg and General Raddick's son had felt, could it have been so different? Could it have been anything but identical -- terror?

* * *

**A/N**: I debated writing an explanatory author's note but decided to just let this speak for itself. However, if anything seems unclear, or you have questions, please let me know.


	93. Trying to Fight Gravity

* * *

**Title: **Trying to Fight Gravity (Title comes from a lyric in Ani Difranco's _Falling Is Like This_)**  
Characters: **Booth, Brennan**  
Rating:** T**  
Spoilers: **Through _Double Trouble in the Panhandle_  
**Word Count: **200**  
Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.**  
Story Notes:** This double drabble is a missing scene for _Double Trouble in the Panhandle_. It's set toward the end of the episode, and it's loosely linked to _Games Without Frontiers_ (#16 in All That Lies Between Us)

* * *

**Trying to Fight Gravity**

Booth's a sucker for women wearing heavy eye make-up.

Scratch that. He's a sucker for this woman wearing heavy make-up.

He sighs, watching his breath lift a strand of her hair. Hell, maybe he's just a sucker for this woman.

The only-one-bed thing has gotten them into trouble before.

This isn't them; it's Buck and Wanda or Boris and Natasha or...

Or nothing. What's the point in lying to himself? He doesn't need Sweets to tell him those characters are all parts of him and his partner.

When she looks at him like that, eyes serious but a smile ghosting around the borders of her mouth, he almost forgets the reasons why this might not be a good idea.

Still, he tries -- because that's who he is. "Look, Bones, this isn't rational."

"Isn't it?" She tilts her head to the side. "You're a man. I'm a woman, and..." Her chest rises and falls, her gaze sliding away from his.

"And?" he asks, resting his palm on her hand where it tugs at the bedspread.

"And I want you."

He's walking a tightrope, without a net to catch him if he slips.

One deep breath, then he lets himself fall.

* * *

**A/N**: If anyone is wondering why I haven't posted much recently or read anyone else's stories (and I'm not saying anyone is!) the reason is that I'm currently 40 weeks and 4 days pregnant. So while I can't make any promises about upcoming updates, I can say that this is just a writing lull; Bones is still near and dear to my heart. Thank you, again, to everyone who's continued to comment on my fics, favorite them, etc. That has always meant something to me, and I don't see that changing anytime soon. :) It's often taken me a while to get out review replies, and having a baby isn't going to help on that front. But please know that I am always touched by the fact that anyone takes the time to read and comment on my stories. And I will respond -- even if it takes me a long time to do so. Thank you, and be well!


	94. What She Didn't Say

* * *

**Title: **What She Didn't Say

**Characters: **Booth, Brennan**  
Rating:** K or PG**  
Spoilers: **None  
**Word Count: **397**  
Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.**  
Story Notes:** This was written for the Bones Comment Fic Meme, in response to **her_lovelyheart** 's request for "Booth/Brennan, scared of the dark."  
**Thanks** for reading, and if you leave feedback, thanks for that as well.

*tiptoes in while the baby is napping* Please pardon the rust.

***

**What She Didn't Say**

The first night, he didn't know what drew him from sleep, pulling him through the dark tunnel until his eyes opened to scan the shadows that settled in his bedroom every night. A ghost-white silhouette hovered across the room.

The blinds were drawn open. He swore he'd closed them before they went to bed. A strong back turned away from him and toward the window; one slim hand flattened, gleaming, trapped against the pane.

_Bones._

In the stillness he listened silently, eyes shut, counting each of her breaths against the tick tock of his own heartbeat. Wait. He could wait. Waiting for her had become a habit. Maybe more than a habit. One addiction to replace the other.

When breath turned to movement and a floorboard sang under quietly placed feet, Booth kept his eyes closed and his face relaxed. The blanket lifted and the bed sank as she slid back in beside him. He imagined the coolness of her skin against the heat of his palm, but when she kept a breath of space between them, he let her. She was still there, and that was enough.

*

The second night, he woke to find the sheets cool beside him. His gaze flickered to the window and caught her standing there once again, her head tilted toward the light outside.

The blinds were drawn open. He swore he'd closed them before they went to bed.

This time when she returned to his bed, still keeping a small distance between their bodies, he reached out. His searching fingers found the softness of her hair. Eyes closed in the dark, he brushed it back from her face; she let him.

*

The third night, he left the blinds open and plugged in and switched on the tiny nightlight he'd bought after work that day.

She raised an eyebrow, telegraphing a question as he joined her in bed.

He laughed and shrugged. "I keep tripping over the toys Parker leaves in here."

A frown curled her lips, but she didn't say anything else.

*

Later, after their bodies cooled and quieted, Booth woke to find Brennan sitting up beside him, eyes open and watchful. Watching him.

Her fingers twisted in the blanket, restless. He watched her struggle, waiting.

"Thank you," she finally whispered.

With a nod, Booth reached out and covered her hand with his own.

He didn't wake again until morning.


	95. Fair

* * *

**Title: **Fair**  
Characters: **Booth, Brennan, Sweets**  
Rating:** K or PG**  
Spoilers: **_Mayhem on the Cross_  
**Word Count: **200**  
Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.**  
Story Notes:** This is set during the final scene in _Mayhem on the Cross_.**  
Author request: **If there are particular songs that remind you of Booth and Brennan, would you please let me know the artists and song titles? Thank you. :)**  
Thanks** for reading, and if you leave feedback, thanks for that as well.

***

**Fair**

A broken dish. Hot water. The trunk of a car. Bones, trapped. Metaphorical scars. Two days. Not fair.

Booth stopped expecting life to be fair so long ago he can't even pinpoint the moment it happened.

It's not fair that the girl locked in the trunk of a car for a teenager's clumsiness became a woman who nearly died inside a car. Thinking about it, he wants to hit someone; he's sure Gordon Gordon would have something to say about that.

There's no one left to hit.

He doesn't want to do show and tell. He doesn't want to compare war wounds with Sweets. The kid's all right, but dinner is all Booth wants to commit to.

It's not fair that his partner can tilt her head, and then he just wants to give her whatever she wants. A single look and the words are spilling from his mouth. Words about the things he never mentions – but that are never far from his mind.

None of it's fair, damn it. But as she tucks his handkerchief back into his pocket, her hand lingers above his heart. He calls himself seven kinds of a fool…

It's not fair, it just _is_.


	96. Zazen

* * *

**Title: **Zazen**  
Characters: **Booth, Brennan**  
Rating:** K or PG**  
Spoilers: **_The End in the Beginning_  
**Word Count: **200**  
Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.**  
Story Notes:** This is set during the final scene in _The End in the Beginning_.**  
Author note: **Zazen is sitting meditation as it's practiced in Zen Buddhism.**  
Thanks** for reading, and if you leave feedback, thanks for that as well.

***

**Zazen**

Four days she waits.

Time is measured by the intervals between one flutter of his eyelids and the next, each making her leap from the hard plastic chair that has become another appendage.

When no further progress occurs, she sits down again and lets her fingers slide over keys worn smooth and shiny from use.

She sits, and it is a form of meditation. Just as her mind spilled over with thoughts when she first learned to meditate, it does so now.

She sits, and lets herself be buffeted by gales of emotion.

Until she reaches stillness.

Gone are the questions about transcendence and losing the self in the other. Gone is the illusion that she still has any choice in the matter. Her only choice lies in her decision to act – or not.

One strike of the delete key empties the screen.

She doesn't need to see the words; they're inside her now.

Finally there is acceptance.

Relief is too small a word for what fills her when his eyes open and he speaks.

The words live inside her now, fighting to be born. She lets him go first; they have both been silent too long.

"Who are you?"


	97. Time and Time Again

* * *

**Title: **Time and Time Again  
**Characters: **Booth, Brennan**  
Rating:** K or PG**  
Spoilers: **None  
**Word Count: **158**  
Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.**  
Story Notes:** This was written in response to a prompt at LJ. Prompt: Booth/Brennan, hands**  
Author note: **Only four more of these, including this one. Doesn't mean I'll stop writing drabbles and ficlets -- sometimes I think that's all my baby girl's left me time to write *g* -- but it might be time to stick 'em in a different series. Maybe that's arbitrary; still, 100 seems like a nice round number. :)  
**Thanks** for reading, and if you leave feedback, thanks for that as well.

***

**Time and Time Again**

For four years he's watched her hands caress pale shards of bone and reassemble them into people, with a workman's competence and an artist's grace.

For four years he's fit his hand to that spot on her back and wondered what she'd do if he let it slip lower, to the curves he's noticed since the day she first got on his nerves.

For four years they've walked side-by-side, elbows casually brushing.

Two Christmases ago she kissed him underneath a sprig of mistletoe; he's never looked at gum the same way again.

Tonight, after they've fought over the last slice of pizza and they're sitting beside each other with beer bottles sweating against their palms, he says, "Can I hold your hand?"

She looks at him so long that he feels his cheeks flush and regrets having asked the question—until she leans toward him and laces her fingers through his and says, "No. But I'll hold yours."


	98. Home Truths

* * *

**Title:** Home Truths  
**Characters: **Booth, Brennan**  
Rating:** K or PG**  
Spoilers: **None  
**Word Count: **159**  
Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.**  
Story Notes:** This was written in response to a prompt at LJ. Prompt: Booth/Brennan. Toothbrush**  
Author note: **Only three more of these, including this one. Doesn't mean I'll stop writing drabbles and ficlets -- sometimes I think that's all my baby girl's left me time to write *g* -- but it might be time to stick 'em in a different series. Maybe that's arbitrary; still, 100 seems like a nice round number. :)  
**Thanks** for reading, and if you leave feedback, thanks for that as well.

***

**Home Truths**

He wakes alone.

A quick turn of his head and he knows Brennan's no longer lying beside him. Breathing deeply, he inhales her scent from the other pillow. Last night they'd roared across a line that had been an artificial barrier for too long. This morning he's fuzzy-headed from lack of sleep.

He doesn't mind – not when he can still feel her bare skin under his fingertips.

He tiptoes to the bathroom. Pausing at the doorway, he clears his throat.

Visibly startled, she turns. "I…didn't bring my toothbrush, and I couldn't find an extra one." Her cheeks flush as she waves a toothbrush at him. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was nervous. "I hope you don't mind that I borrowed yours."

When only a few inches separate them, Booth brushes his hand over her sleep-tousled hair. Letting his lips curve to match the smile inside him, he says, "What's mine is yours, Bones. Always has been."


	99. Miss Independent

* * *

**Title:** Miss Independent  
**Characters: **Booth, Max**  
Rating:** K or PG**  
Spoilers: **None  
**Word Count: **373**  
Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.**  
Story Notes:** This was written in response to a prompt at LJ. Prompt: Max and Booth, independence.**  
Author note: **Only one more left in this series.  
**Thanks** for reading, and if you leave feedback, thanks for that as well.

***

**Miss Independent**

Booth has just taken his first sip of coffee when he feels the air stir. Someone sits on the stool to his right; he stifles a sigh. He'd purposely chosen a spot that was flanked by empty stools.

He won't turn his head. But then, he doesn't have to. His peripheral vision confirms what his gut already knows – it's someone he definitely doesn't want to talk to.

"Not even a good morning, Agent Booth?"

The way he says 'agent' makes Booth's jaw clench. "Go away, Max."

"I wish I could," Max replies with a shrug of his shoulders and a raised eyebrow. The latter reminds Booth of Brennan; his hand tightens on the cup. "But fatherly duty compels me to offer you some friendly advice."

"Yeah right." Booth snorts. "Save it. Like I'm taking advice from you."

"You will if you're as smart as my daughter thinks you are."

Booth straightens. "Bones said that about me?"

"Not in so many words…"

He slumps back down and tries not to growl.

"Look, Booth, you're a busy man. So am I."

Booth rolls his eyes.

"So I'll keep it short: you're not sleeping with my daughter—"

"My relationship with Bones is none of your business."

"—and that means you're either gay, stupid, or afraid. Since you've assured me before that it's not the former, I'll assume it's a combination of the last two."

"Insulting me is not going to make me listen to you."

"Shoot the messenger and you miss an important message."

"Meaning what?"

"Temperance has one hell of an independent streak. She gets that from me," Max said with a wink. "But don't let her fool you into thinking she doesn't need anyone. Now, the way I see it, you two are locked into a game of chicken: if one of you doesn't swerve, you're both going to wind up alone."

"And this matters to you why?"

"If you don't know the answer to that, you're even dumber than I thought." With that parting shot, Max stands and walks away. "Enjoy your coffee, Agent Booth," he calls over his shoulder.

Booth stares into his cup, scowling. He really must be an idiot if he's seriously considering taking advice from an ex-con.


	100. I Will Not Take These Things for Granted

* * *

**Title:** I Will Not Take These Things for Granted  
**Characters: **Booth, Brennan**  
Rating:** K or PG**  
Spoilers: **None  
**Timeline:** Future  
**Word Count: **300**  
Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to FOX, not me. This story is purely meant to entertain. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Story Notes: **The title comes from a gorgeous song by Toad the Wet Sprocket.**  
****Thanks** for reading, and if you leave feedback, thanks for that as well.

***

**I Will Not Take These Things for Granted**

Every few months, Booth asks Brennan to marry him. It's almost a joke between them. The first couple times she tells him it's an antiquated ritual that she has no desire to perform; as the years turn like the pages in one of her books, she gives him one of those gentle smiles he thinks she saves just for him and says, "No, thank you."

Ten years later, he still asks.

*

Booth waits in line at Barnes and Noble. When it's his turn, he steps up to the table and hands her his copy of _Blood in the Water_, her latest book. She opens the book and stares down at it, pen hovering until Booth waves his hands in front of her face. "Earth to Bones."

With a sigh, she scrawls something in the book and returns it to him. He silently reads the inscription: "Yes."

"Yes, what?" he asks.

She gazes back at him, hands folded on the table. "Yes."

He's not sure he gets it. But there's this feeling growing in his gut, and he's always trusted his gut.... "Wait, you mean 'yes'? As in 'yes yes'?" He knows he sounds like a moron, but he doesn't care.

The smile she sends him borders on shy. "Yes, Booth."

"But why?" he can't resist asking. "I've been asking you for years."

"Because it matters to you -- and you matter to me. Now, I should warn you that I'm only open to a civil ceremony--"

Booth leans across the table and swallows her words with a kiss. "Thank you," he says, after they've separated, looking at the woman who crossed the line into his heart so long ago.

"No," she replies, glancing at their joined hands before looking back at him. "Thank you -- for being my partner in all things."

****

**Author note: **I started this series in December 2007; a lot has happened since then. :) It's been fun, and it's given me a place to write -- even through the craziest and busiest moments in my life. To anyone who's read and/or reviewed at any point along the way, you have my eternal thanks. I hope you found some enjoyment in these ficlets, even if not all of them were to your taste.


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